


On Another Job

by whitehawk



Category: Kanera fanfic - Fandom, SWR: fanfic, Star Wars, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Rebels fanfic, kanera
Genre: A New Dawn, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Consensual Sex, F/M, Hera Syndulla and Kanan Jarrus, Hera and Kanan, Jedi, Kanan Jarrus and Hera Syndulla, Kanan and Hera, Kanera fanfiction, Polis Massa, Post-Star Wars: A New Dawn, Pre-Rebels, Pre-Star Wars: Rebels, Space Battles, Space Opera, Star Wars - Freeform, Star Wars: A New Dawn - Freeform, Twi'leks, kanera - Freeform, kanera fanfic, post-AND
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-09 14:30:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitehawk/pseuds/whitehawk
Summary: Four months after meeting on Gorse, Kanan Jarrus and Hera Syndulla travel to the asteroid planet of Polis Massa, but their plans soon go awry. Kanan is berated by Force visions while members of Free Ryloth discover Hera. Can they escape with their lives and aid a disenfranchised Lasat before their pasts destroys their futures?Commenters have said my stories read like canon. If that's what you're looking for, "On Another Job" and its prequel, "On the Job," are for you!





	1. Coming In

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the sequel to "On the Job." It is a serial with new posts every month (life permitting) and updates and snippets on my Tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/journeytotheblackmountain
> 
> Comments are always very welcome! b(^_^)d

Hera had surprised him and now he was trapped. Not that he had any plans to escape. Maybe that’s what trapped him more than anything else.

Kanan gently banged the back of his head against the doorframe, pressing it into the sharp metal. He reached out, but then stopped, took the empty air into his fists and settled for pressing his palms into the bulkhead behind him.

Hera’s mouth was deep on him now, her tongue sliding over his skin as her hands kneaded his hips. With an exhale of hot air, she let him slide out of her mouth and Kanan dared to look down. Her bright green eyes stared back, made brighter by the dark flush in her cheeks. A cunning smile pulled at her lips.

He wanted to smile back, but all he could manage were a few labored breaths before the wet heat of her mouth swallowed him up again. His eyes pulled closed.

It wasn’t the first time Hera had done this to him, but it was the first time she’d done in the cockpit, and the first time she hadn’t bothered to get him even partially undressed. That, combined with the aggressive, steady rhythm she worked into him now had Kanan ready to burst.

His mind was a blank. His body teetered. As usual, it was the sound of her voice humming into his flesh that pushed him over the edge. There was a rush of blood and energy that felt like his life-force was being pulled out of him– and he was happy to give it. As Hera’s breath passed over his wet skin, Kanan squeezed his eyes tighter. His muscles were liquid. He was barely keeping himself upright. Finally, he was free.

“You’re… getting good,” he managed between heavy breathes.

A chuckle escaped Hera’s throat, satisfied at reducing him into a languid mass of useless jelly. He cracked an eye. Her lips were sealed in an awkward line, but her eyes were glistening. In fact, her whole face glowed. Kanan couldn’t keep a smile from meandering its way onto his face– not that she needed the extra vindication. He was about to stumble out a few more syllables to that effect when the door burst open.

“ _Brrr-mrr-rrr!_ ” Chopper groused indignantly as Kanan jumped away in spite of his sluggish muscles. He turned his back, stuffing himself back into his pants as quickly as possible, while the metallic, orange-domed menace shook on its struts and exploded into a string of whirrs and whoops. Hera sidestepped around him and slipped into the hallway.

“Wait! Where’re you going?” Kanan reached for Hera only to pull back as Chopper lurched forward menacingly.

Already half-way down the hall, Hera turned around and shrugged. She pointed to her closed mouth, still glistening at the edge.

Chopper’s dome swiveled towards its owner. “ _Whrrr-brrrrr!_ ”

Hera’s eyes went serious. She set a hand on her hip and pointed first at Chopper and then at Kanan. He could practically hear her ordering them to, _Play nice_ before she continued on to the fresher. Chopper huffed and muttered with the click of unseen gears.

Using the distraction, Kanan finished zipping up his pants. The hormones were still thick in his veins, but he got everything back in place gracefully enough. With one hand on the wall he took a deep breath. Sweet oxygen filled his lungs. She was getting _very_ good.

Another deep breath and Kanan’s spine prickled, but this time it wasn’t in a good way. With a wary eye, he looked over his shoulder.

The droid’s photo-receptors trained on Kanan. The old C1 unit’s scratched orange dome shifted restlessly back and forth as it watched him, emitting discontented noises.

As casually as he could, Kanan put the tactical station chair between him and the rolling scrap-heap. It’d been two days since Chopper’d last attacked him, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He still had bruises on his shins from the first time, now almost a month ago.

The little droid growled something to itself that Kanan couldn’t make out. He was still learning Chopper’s unusually colorful binary dialect, but whatever it said sounded a lot like “space meat.” Kanan wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but he was sure it wasn’t a compliment.

Trying not to look overly wary, he made it to his co-pilot’s seat with Chopper only advancing a few inches. After swiveling so that the little droid was in his line of sight, he reached for the datapad on the console. A few blind gropes and it was in his hands. Kanan flicked on the display, glanced again at the softly grumbling droid and opened the destination log.

Polis Massa. Pulverized planet now an asteroid on the edge of space. No one visited here. No one had any reason. It’d taken them two days just to get into the right hyperspace lane. The Polis Massa asteroid field and its single settlement were such a tiny footnote on the map of the galaxy that a normal person would have mistaken it for a smudge. But Hera wasn’t a normal person, he remembered with a wry smile. And neither was he, for that matter.

Kanan pushed his finger along the edge of the screen to the notes segment. Hera kept the most cryptic yet detailed notes of anyone he’d ever met. In another life she might have made a good spy. Come to think of it– that was exactly the life she was leading to some degree, wasn’t it?

The notes were about what he expected: dry details about docking fees and customs inspections. From the look of things, Polis Massa’s port authority was in top shape, dotting every Shen and crossing every Enth. A place this far out from civilization would have to be strict if it wanted to keep from becoming an enclave for pirates and smugglers… Or Imperials. Kanan made a face as a scenario unfolded in his mind. Bit by bit the lonely asteroid became a haven for spice traders and slavers until the Empire couldn’t ignore its presence any more. They would “intervene” and set up “regulations." Trafficking and illicit drugs were only outlawed in name; the Empire was the biggest player in the flesh trade. It didn't make a difference if they preferred the term “political prisoners." Sure, they could use droids in their labor camps, but organics were cheaper to maintain and easier to come by. And in Palpatine’s galaxy there was no shortage of malcontents to-

_Zzzappp!_

Kanan leapt back onto the control console and out of range of Chopper’s electro-shock prod. The datapad flipped end over end through the air and smashed against the floor.

“What the-” he spat even as the droid rolled forward, prongs sparking.

Kanan snarled an oath just as his hand slipped, sending his elbow crashing into the console. The cabin lights jolted to emergency red. An ugly alarm blared.

 _“Port access hatch opening. Port access hatch opening. Prepare for decompression…”_ announced the recorded warning placidly.

Chopper’s orange dome rotated full around as two mechanical service arms popped out. Screeching a long chain of insults, the droid reached for the console, but Kanan put his boot to its photoreceptors and kicked it away. As the droid clanged against the rear tactical chair, Kanan spun on the control panel and began pushing buttons furiously. The blaring alarm cut short.

_“Decompression about to commen- Port access hatch resealing. Stand by for safety checks.”_

With a rising mechanical groan like a battle cry, Chopper rammed into Kanan’s legs at full speed. The human fell back into the co-pilot’s chair and swiveled out of Chopper’s reach as its pincer snapped after him, denied its prize. Kanan didn’t wait to come back into range, but leap out of the chair and into the corner, ducking to keep from hitting his head on the bulkhead. On the other side of the chair, the droid’s electro prod buzzed and popped.

“Chopper!”

The little C1 unit pulled its prod back in so fast there was a rush of air as it closed the front cover.

Kanan didn’t leave his place against the wall. “You’re droid’s trying to kill me again!”

Chopper flopped its metal arms. _“Brr-mrrr-ww-rrr-bww!”_

“It’s not an exaggeration!” he snapped back.

The shattered datapad crunched under Hera’s foot as she swept to the front of the cockpit.  Chopper leaned away and Kanan was secretly relieved to have Hera between them even for a second. A few deft adjustments later and the lighting returned to a healthy glow.

Hera whirled around. Her lekku whipped over her shoulders. “What do you two think you’re doing?” she asked looking between them, left and right.

“Me?” Kanan gawked at the same time Chopper shook on its struts. _“Mmr?”_

“Yes. Both of you. Explain now!”

Kanan jabbed a finger at Chopper. “It tried to electrocute me,” he said. “I slipped on the console trying to get away and-”

“The ship almost decompressed?” She cut off his words. “Yeah. I got that part.” She leaned in towards Chopper. “And you?” she asked. “What’s your excuse?”

The robot gesticulated with its service arms, but only mumbled a few indistinct syllables. Its dome swiveled slowly to the side until its photoreceptors rested on Kanan. With another series of rough clicks it erupted into a string of binary whirs.

_“Hrr-grr-meep-wop-wop! Err-errrrr-wop-meep-wop-brrrrrr!”_

“I did not!” shouted Kanan.

_“Hrr-hrr-mmr!”_

“I seriously doubt that.” Hera crossed her arms and scowled.

Chopper looked between its owner, Kanan, and back again. With a final sharp grunt it kicked out its center wheel and sped away down the hallway only to turn a sharp left into one of the spare cabins. The door slid shut and locked with an audible clang.

Hera let out a huff of air. She shook her head and pushed off the console.

Extricating himself from behind the co-pilot’s chair, Kanan said, “I know you have a soft spot for that droid, but it’s buggier than that job we did from Brase to Husera.”

Hera rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry he did that to you. I’ll… talk to him again.”

“Just like you did the last five times?” He shook his head. “Why don’t you get its memory wiped or something?”

She watched the locked door at the far end of the hall. Shrugging, she threw up her palms. “Chopper’s special to me. Important. If I take away his memories I take away… _him_.”

“Okay, but what about a partial wipe? Just the personality subroutines or something?”

She shook her head and her lekku swayed limply. “You don’t understand. Chopper’s been with me from the very beginning. We’ve made so many modifications to the _Ghost_ together. There’s no one who knows the ship better.”

“Yes, there is. _You_.” Kanan corrected. Hera flashed a little smile his way, but her attention was still on the locked door. _“_ What could a droid possibly know about the _Ghost_ better than you?”

Hera looked at him again. This time her smile was the little shy one she used when she was trying to be modest. Or he had just asked a stupid question without realizing it. “Like how to bypass the compressor without blowing us all to stardust,” she said.

Kanan blinked. “Well, okay, that’s pretty important. But you’re telling me that you couldn’t do that yourself?”

“In a pinch, sure,” she shrugged, folding her arms. “But I have Chopper so that I don’t have to. And if we were in that much trouble, then you can bet I’d be too busy flying the ship and keeping us alive to unbolt the access hatch and reroute the wiring.”

There is was again: another reminder of the crazy world he’d stepped into. Where once he had chosen his dangerous paths (usually down dark alleys or seedy bars), now the trouble was looking for him. It was right behind him, waiting at every waystation and refueling stop. It was something he hadn’t gotten used to yet and wondered if he ever would. Or could.

Kanan pushed on the headrest of his chair, rotating it idly back and forth. His voice was soft. “Just talk to… Chopper. Okay?” he said.

Hera nodded. “I will.”

“I mean it,” he said, sidling up to stand beside her. She leaned her weight against him, but kept her eyes on the hallway. “I... want this to work.”

When Hera looked up at him, her face was painted with pain and hope in equal parts. She glanced at his lips and they leaned together. After a soft embrace, Hera pulled away. The proximity alarm was flashing. Without another word she took her usual seat and Kanan followed suit.

“Prepare to come out of hyperspace,” she said and took the controls.

His hands passed easily over the console. “Preparing to enter realspace.”

The eerie blue churn gave way to star lines and then star lines turned to dots in the black, a black dominated by a great cloud of brown and silver dust. The system’s star was a fractured glow behind a fog of debris hundreds of kilometers thick. Beams of sunlight and shadow passed over the _Ghost_ in a stark procession as the ship approached the asteroid field. Although the cataclysm that pulverized the original planet occurred millions of years ago, the remnants only stretched halfway around the planetary orbit, meaning that the object density was thin enough to maneuver through as long as a reasonable speed was maintained.

And Hera did maintain a reasonable speed. There were half a dozen ships in the transport lanes ahead of them, weaving their way through the asteroids in both directions. A cursory scan revealed that all of the ships were freighters and that all of them had their ID transponders on. Kanan reached for a switch low on the console. With a quiet click the _Ghost_ proclaimed itself to be the _Expedient II,_ a freelance merchant vessel out of the Ganthel system.

The _Ghost_ sailed past the near-motionless rocks suspended in space. Their pock-marked surfaces shimmered silver in the sun. Silicon-based, most likely, Kanan decided. Carbon had a muted, smoky reflection while germanium shimmered like a liquid mirror frozen in the vacuum of space. If they had been in a field of germanium, they likely would have gone blind.

After a few short minutes the asteroid field opened up into a space that had been cleared of all major debris. At the center of the clearing sat an asteroid large enough to be called a planetoid. Mostly spherical in shape, its surface was roughly damaged by a hundred millennia’s worth of errant collisions and the icy spray of passing comets. Despite the palpable history of past violence, there sat in one of its craters the unmistakable indicators of civilization: habitat domes and rows of blinking lights.

From space, Polis Massa didn’t look like much. Not that it was haphazardly built– on the contrary, it was a well-designed (and shockingly well-maintained) gem of a settlement, especially considering how close it was to wild space. But it also had a bland, utilitarian feel. No cultures had grown up on Polis Massa; it had no clear history, no music of art of its own, and definitely no native species. It was a colony filled with scientists and wayfarers, its soul as cold and bleak as the soundless fields of rock that surrounded it.

For Kanan, the settlement barely solicited a glance. “What, exactly, brings us out here again?” he asked.

“Giza,” Hera said without taking her eyes off the viewport. “He’s a salvage operator who works mostly on stripping old battle-field wrecks from the Clone Wars.”

“A grave-digger. Classy,” Kanan made a face. The display lit up with an automated communication from the port authority and he sent over the _Ghost/Expedient II’s_ landing codes. Hera had docked here once before and qualified for “express processing” as a known vessel. That meant no negotiations with the port authority and a discounted landing fee.

“Maybe not,” Hera agreed. She pushed forward on the yoke and the ship accelerated towards the blinking lights. “But there have been rumors going around for a while that Giza has a special kind of luck with the Empire.”

Hera wasn’t one to talk about luck, so the word caught Kanan’s interest. “What kind of luck?” he asked.

“Like when one of his ships shows up, the Empire tends to back off.”

Kanan’s expression was cynical and calculating. “I hate to break it to you, but that sounds like bribery, not luck.”

“I thought so, too, but there are just as many reports of the Empire leaving when he shows up as there are of Imperial vessels standing down.”

His dark eyebrows pulled together. “That’s… weird,” he said.

“A few weeks ago, some Bothans were caught in an illegal salvage in the Kadavo system. Then the Empire shows up and prepares to fire.” Hera frowned and readjusted her grip on the control yoke. “They were just trying to get some base metals to sell for food and supplies. They weren’t scavenging weapons or technology.” Hera took a deep breath to calm her building rage. Her lekku uncurled and she continued. “That’s when Giza’s frigate appeared. No one had seen it because of all the debris and scan interference. But after a few minutes the Imperial ship powered down its weapons and told the Bothans they were free to go.”

Hera sat up in her seat, becoming more animated as she spoke. “And there’s more,” she said. “The Imperial ship that stopped them was found a week later in port completely abandoned.”

“Not that _is_ interesting.” Kanan leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. He stroked his goatee. “And that’s why we’re here? To find out the secret of this Giza person?”

“That’s right,” she nodded.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is this going to be like when you were stalking Vidian on Gorse? Because I’m not sure I’m up for fighting another raging cyborg while trying to keep a moon from exploding."

Hera chuckled. “I doubt it’ll be that intense,” she said. “I’m actually going to try to talk to Giza. I want to see what kind of a person he is. Why he does– whatever it is.” She leaned towards Kanan as she added, “Who knows? You might even be able to pick up a new trick or two from him.”

He had to give a smile to that. If there was a way to make Imperials back off without firing a blaster, he wanted to know it, even if it sounded like less fun.

Hera’s smile was placid as she eased the _Ghost_ to hover over the docking port opening like a trap door on the surface of the asteroid. “At the very least, I think there’s something to be learned here.”

“And at the most?”

“A potential ally.” She switched off the ion propulsion engines, preparing to enter the docking area. “And even if he’s _not_ a potential ally, he might still turn out to be a source for future jobs.”

 _“’Jobs,’”_ Kanan repeated. “Like smuggling?”

Hera shrugged. “Like… untaxed deliveries,” she offered.

“Ah,” Kanan said.

Below the ship, the grey, barren expanse of Polis Massa slid away to reveal a warm, yellow light emanating from below. The ship hummed as Hera seamlessly guided it through a vertical descent. Ribbons of golden light slid from bottom to top and out of sight as they guided the way down. Hera kept her attention on the proximity sensors, making sure they were well clear of the walls.

There was a quiet _whoosh_ from down the hallway behind them and the distinct double-clank of a C1 unit rolling into the cockpit. Although his instincts told him to watch out for an imminent attack, Kanan’s pride kept his eyes on the viewport. Chopper grumbled innocuously about the irritations of being trapped underground in an artificially pressurized environment.

As the ship descended into the heart of the asteroid, Kanan took a deep breath. He knew he was walking into more craziness for his crazy life, but he had no desire to walk away. This was the new life he had chosen, and he would be ready for whatever it had to throw at him.

Or so he thought.

The _Ghost_ touched down on the landing pad. The second the ship had settled, Kanan felt it. A sharp zing scraped along his spine like a knife. His hands curled around the ends of the armrests as his neck stretched forward. He was listening, but for what he didn’t know; he only knew that it was gone. The sound he was waiting to hear wasn’t there. The entire settlement was silent… like a tomb.


	2. Mind Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After landing on Polis Massa, Kanan and Hera meet with some unexpected obstacles.

The _Ghost_ ’s landing struts clanged against the landing bay’s duracrete floor. Hera’s hands passed easily over the controls to her left. As the engines powered down her eyes flitted to the collection of ships lined up around the central drop-shaft. About half of the spots were occupied, either by light freighters or small craft suitable for only one or two operators. Piles of cargo sat at the bases of a few craft while Kallidahin security personnel patrolled the floor, datapads in hand. Hera had taken note of the local population on her last visit. They were medium sized beings with thin limbs and featureless faces that resembled white shells punctuated by two wide-set eyes. They were a smooth-motioned species that had originally come to the asteroid field to study the system and its ill-fated planet. The whole system was technically under the jurisdiction of the Archeological Research Council of Kallidah. Hera had never been there as it was unlikely to harbor potential allies for the cause. The Kallidahins were too interested in academic pursuits to bother with politics.

“Are we good to open the hatch?” she asked and settled the control yoke into the neutral position. A beat passed and there was no answer. She looked over at Kanan only to do a double-take.

He was sitting forward in his seat, staring out the viewport. His neck was stretched out, eyes shifting from ship to ship. “Like a tomb,” he whispered.

Hera cocked an eyebrow. “Sure, it’s no Alderaan, but it’s pretty nice for an asteroid spaceport.” She gestured to the brightly lit area. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘tomb.’”

Kanan looked at her, but then looked back just as quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered and cleared his throat. He blinked hard and turned his attention to the control console as if finally noticing it was there. Working the controls, he rattled off the usual reports. “Relays stable. Life-support balancing. Output nominal.” Even as he worked to complete the landing cycle, his eyes kept returning to the viewport, expectation painted across his face.

“Have you been here before?” she asked. Kanan had spent the last ten or eleven years traveling form one planet to the next. Maybe he’d stopped here to take in the sights.

“No, it’s my first time,” he said with a quick shake of his head, then hit the switch that equalized the ship’s pressure. There was a slight hiss from the ventilation. Behind them, Chopper grumbled something about finally remembering the organics that solicited a dagger-like look from her. The little droid quickly cut off the noise.

“Are you sure?” she ventured, turning to Kanan again. He seemed on edge. It was unusual.

Outside the viewport a flash caught their eyes. At the front of the ship, a Kallidahin was signaling them with a flashlight.

Hera waved and the being slowly tilted its egg-like visage to the left. Its beady eyes neither blinked nor moved from them.

Forcing a breezy laugh, Kanan pointed a thumb out the viewport. “Are you kidding? I’d never forget a face like that.”

Hera had to smile at that. She made for the ladder to the cargo hold with Kanan right behind. Chopper rolled out of the way, letting them pass unobstructed– Kanan, just barely– before rolling after them. “Chop, you watch the ship while we’re away.”

 _“Whrrr-whop-hhuu-grr-bbb?”_ he asked inching forward.

“Before the sleep cycle,” she answered. “If we’ll be late, I’ll comm you.”

Chopper’s photoreceptors shifted between Hera and Kanan. He grumbled dubiously.

Hera ignored him and let Kanan go ahead of her on the latter. The quizzical look on his face revealed that he was still putting together Chop’s latest insult. She hoped he wouldn’t figure it out for a while.

With the familiar pop of equalizing pressures, the cargo door opened to the floor of Polis Massa’s communal landing bay. Just outside the landing zone stood the Kallidahin who had signaled them. He was male and his grey and red uniform identified him as one of the space port’s security agents. As Hera and Kanan descended the ramp, Chopper lowered himself into the cargo hold on his thruster. As he clanged to the floor, Hera gave him a hard look over her shoulder. He slowed his pursuit to a leisurely roll that looked anything but casual.

The security agent raised a knobby-jointed hand in greeting. Hera returned it and smiled.

“I’m Hera Syndulla, captain of _Expedient Two_. And this is my crew.” She gestured to Kanan beside her and Chopper perched at the top of the ramp.

The Kallidahin tilted its face to the left and straightened it again in one easy motion. “What is your purpose on Polis Massa?”

Hera winced as his metallic voice echoed in her mind. It sounded like an aluminum bar hit against a rock. Next to her, Kanan shuffled back half a step. His hand brushed against his blaster.

“They’re telepaths,” she said gently touching his arm.

His eyebrows pulled together into a hard line. “I figured.”

Telepathic communication was uncomfortable for beings whose brains weren’t wired to use it both ways. Twi’leks and Humans were no exception. Although they could hear the agent’s voice in their minds, they wouldn’t be able to answer him the same way. Hera silently thanked the goddess for that. If listening was this excruciating, she couldn’t imagine how painful speaking would be.

Hera studied the tension in Kanan’s jaw and the way his shoulders shifted. He was trying to look calm in front of the security agent and not quite succeeding. “Do you want just me to talk to him?” she asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “I want to hear.”

Hera gave a nod and turned back to the security agent who had stood by patiently while they talked. She forced a smile as she continued, trying not to show her discomfort… or her worry. “We’re here on business,” she said.

The Kallidahin made a note on his datapad with slow, deliberate motions before continuing. “How long do you intend to stay in Polis Massa?”

His impalpable voice still ringing in her head, she tried to answer his questions as quickly as possible. “Three cycles.”

“Will any goods or services be exchanged during your visit to Polis Massa?”

“No.”

“Do you have any cargo on board of an organic or inorganic nature that could be a potential contaminant to the beings of Polis Massa, pose a danger to the beings of Polis Massa or to the structural integrity of Polis Massa under typical circumstances?”

Hera’s spine shivered at the reverberations rattling her head. She cracked another smile and waved a hand at the ship before letting it rest on her hip. “Not unless you count the fuel cells… or my droid.”

At the top of the ramp, Chopper let out a string of indignant beeps. He’d show her how dangerous he could be. Just come back up and find out.

The security agent’s shoulders see-sawed up and down as his psychic voice tinned, “Ha ha. Ha ha.”

Beside her, Kanan’s shoulders bunched and his hands gnarled.

The awkward-sounding laugh finally ended and the Kallidahin checked his datapad once more. “A scanning team will survey your vessel in one hour. A crew member must be present during the scan. Who is your designated representative?”

“If it’s alright, my droid can stay.”

Kanan rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “Looks like it’s got a use after all,” he muttered.

Chopper exploded. _“Gww! Gww! B-b-b-b-rrrrr!  MmmmWOOOP!”_

Hera laughed a little as her eyes dragged over Kanan’s face. The seriousness that had been hovering over him seemed to be disappearing. All that remained was a faint line between his eyebrows and a hitch in his shoulder she was sure was from the forced telepathy.

While Chopper warbled, the security agent tilted his head slowly forward. If it had been possible for that blank face to show surprise, it would have gawked. His reedy voice grated against their brains. “This is acceptable,” he said. “Please behave safely on Polis Massa.”

“Thank you,” Hera nodded.

The second he turned away to focus on an old RZ-1, Hera felt a palpable wave of relief. She took a second to rub her temples through her flight cap. She’d forgotten how rough it was dealing with Kallidahins. Hopefully there was a way to leave the spaceport without having to endure an exit interview. Maybe Chopper could relay communication over the comm? Then again, maybe she didn’t want Chopper relaying information to security personnel. He’d probably tell them Kanan was a holo-bootlegger and get him arrested. Or black-listed. Or both.

Speaking of the mechanical devil, he was shifting on his struts, inching forwards towards the ramp.

Hera set her hand on Kanan’s shoulder before making her way up the ramp. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

The droid rattled and grumbled. He looked ready to the run off of the ship at any moment.

“Hey,” Hera cooed as she knelt next to him. “Chop. It’s alright.”

_“Hr-hr-rrrt.”_

“Yes, it is,” she whispered and laid a hand on his scratched, orange dome. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but you need to trust me, okay? I’m counting on you to keep things safe while I’m gone.”

“ _Whrr-brrr…_ ”

“Hey.” She caressed his battle-scarred metal with her hand, pulling his focus away from Kanan and back to her. “I’m always going to come back. You got that? I’m not going anywhere.”

_“Whhop-gg.”_

She smiled wryly. “You know what I mean.”

Chopper’s dome drifted away from Kanan as he quietly processed.

“Keep an eye out for Imperials for me?”

_“Hr-nnn-ger-pp-rr-hrrr.”_

Hera chuckled. “Then I guess you can take it easy for a while.”

Standing up, she gave her oldest friend one more pat before turning to go. “Do yourself a favor and run a self-diagnostic,” she added. “It’s been a while.”

Instead of arguing, Chopper just let his gears whir in noncommittal tones, hemming and hawing over the possibility of maybe running his maintenance routines if he wasn’t too busy.

As Hera walked by, Kanan fell into step beside her without a word or a touch. She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d just gotten Chopper calmed down; there was no reason to do anything that might rile him up again.

Side-by-side, they crossed the landing bay floor. Hera stole a few sideways glances at Kanan. He still had an expectant look to him as he looked around, but the distractedness from the _Ghost_ was gone as was most of the irritation from the telepathic discussion. A part of her wanted to ask again if he was alright, but she already knew what he would say. _I’m fine, Hera. It was nothing._

Hera took in a deep breath and turned her mind to the subterranean complex. It really was impressive, tall enough that a wide variety of ships could dock there. Even a Lambda-class shuttle with its folding wings would have no trouble flitting in and out. The duracrete floors were clean and smooth; all of the carbon scoring from landings and take offs were contained to the landing zones. The floor itself was stylized, unusual for an area that saw so much rough usage. A geometric pattern of octagons and diamonds set with circles stretched from wall to wall. The effect made the underground area feel more like a marketplace than a hanger.

After a minute they passed by the same security agent who was now busy flashing his light at the cockpit of the RZ-1 Hera had noticed earlier. The ship must have been yellow at one point in time, but now a thick layer of carbon dust hid most of the decades-old paint job. Even the viewport was partially obscured. She wondered if the occupants could even see the agent trying to get their attention through the muck.

Up ahead at the end of the broad walkway was the main entrance to the settlement. Vaguely hexagonal at the top, the archway was lined in smooth, grey-white metal and inlaid with soft lighting. Over the archway in clear Aurebesh letters it read, “Entrance.”

Kanan and Hera stepped aside as the doors to the elevator opened. Three Quarrens emerged pushing a hover-cart loaded with small crates. Most of the containers were stamped by the Polis Massan mark of a blue circle with a black line through the center, but a few had marking she recognized from Outer Rim systems with strong trade alliances like Eriadu and Onderon. One had markings that had obviously been scratched off. Hera stared at it as the Quarrens moved past.

“Ready?” Kanan called from inside the elevator.

Hera stepped in and he released the button, allowing the doors to close. The wide, plasteel box began its ascent with the healthy hum of unseen motors. Lights passed by in regular intervals, marking the levels as they ascended to the planetoid’s surface. It was a long way to the top; the spaceport had been dug deep to allow for so many ships and probably to avoid possible ventilation if there was an asteroid impact on the surface. It was only a few seconds before Hera found herself shuffling her feet. By her calculations, they weren’t even halfway up yet. And after that’s they’d have to travel laterally over to the settlement. It was surprising that with such a long trip the elevator didn’t offer chairs.

With a deep breath, Kanan netted his hands behind his head and stretched his chest and arms. Hera’s eyes lingered on the shape of his pecs straining against the fabric of the olive green tunic. It suited him well and he wore it often. At the peak of his stretch, Kanan opened a slit eye. He must have seen her looking at him because he gave her a knowing simper.

Hera rolled her eyes as their ascent slowed to a stop and then resumed in a lateral direction. A glance at the progress indicator showed that there was no one waiting at the first stop, Waystation Dome. It was the smaller of the two main structures that made up Polis Massa and housed the port authority. On her previous trip, Hera had only gone as far as Waystation, but this time she and Kanan were headed directly to the main settlement, Topside Dome. She wasn’t sure what to expect from the Kallidahin research settlement, but if it was anything like the rest of the place, it would rival a Coruscant VIP terminal for cleanliness.

Wondering about the heretofore unseen portion of the planetoid, Hera leaned her face closer to the tiny viewport in the side of the elevator. It was nothing more than a thin strip of transparasteel set into the side, meant more to alleviate feelings of claustrophobia than to provide an actual view. Outside, a deep canyon yawned below the elevator track where the bottom loomed black and invisible. Not far away on the planetoid’s surface, a craterous ridge lifted up in a rough ring surrounding the settlement. At regular points, bluish white lights marked the perimeter. A pair of warm, yellow glows indicated the entrance to the excavation, a part of the asteroid unavailable to the general public.

As Hera watched, the access port to the excavation opened up. Several Kallidahins in zero-atmo suits guided out a large container and slowly maneuvered it to rest beside two other identical boxes. Hera leaned forward trying to see what was written on the sides of those crates, but they were too far away and the lighting was too poor.

No sooner had she pressed herself against the wall than Kanan was beside her, pressing himself into her.

Despite their earlier antics on the _Ghost_ , Hera felt a rush tickle her insides. His breath passed over her lekku and made her skin prickle. The feeling turned into a warm flush as he leaned down and whispered, “Didn’t expect to be alone with you again so soon.”

Hera pressed closed her eyes. It still unnerved her how quickly Kanan Jarrus could erase a coherent thought from her head (not that she had been thinking about anything dire at that moment). But being close to him made it difficult to concentrate on anything but his shape, his voice, his movements. She found herself leaning into him. He was warm. He was always warm.

Kanan’s lips passed over her pilot’s cap and grazed against the exposed skin of her right lek. “If we’re dirt-side for a few days,” he said, “I thought we could find a place to stay. Somewhere with real showers. And real beds.”

Hera hummed pleasantly. “We might be able to look into that.” She wasn’t sure how hard she’d work to actually follow through with that half-affirmation (she had a mission to accomplish on Polis Massa and the mission always came first), but that wasn’t the important thing right now. The important thing was Kanan and the crackle of energy he was awakening inside her. Besides, the mission hadn’t started yet.

As his hand skirted down her hip, Hera reached behind her. She cupped her hand behind his head and pulled him into her lips. His breath was rich and familiar and his skin smelled half of soap and half of engine grease. While hungry kisses passed between them, Kanan linked his fingers through a loop in her pants and drew her closer. The feeling of his flesh made Hera ache. Why weren’t they back on the _Ghost_? Why wasn’t he underneath her, where she liked to watch him smile until he forgot about the galaxy that existed on the other side of the door?

The image renewed Hera’s desire and she gave in and turned around, thinking to push him against the far wall. But Kanan was faster. As soon as she was in his arms, he lifted her onto his waist, back against the elevator wall. Her hips instinctively angled to receive him, even with the layers of fabric in the way. They melted into furious kisses until Kanan gave a thrust and a frustrated growl escaped his throat.

“Easy, love,” she whispered in his ear just before she began sucking on it. Kanan’s hands scratched over her sides and gripped at her body. He pulled one of her lek into his mouth, making her sigh breathy desire into his ear. The sheer force with which he wanted her was at both times terrifying and exhilarating.

Below their feet, the elevator started to slow.

With a gentle scrape of her teeth, Hera released Kanan’s ear and slid her legs back to the floor. Kanan was resistant. He lavished kisses on her lek until she pulled it slowly out of his hand. Their eyes met over the white tattoos. The intensity in Kanan’s eyes held a promise and Hera’s whole being surged at the thought.

The beings on the other side of the doors barely blinked as they stood aside, letting the two completely innocuous occupants vacate the elevator. Hera stepped off first, nodding politely to a tall Chagrian. Kanan followed close behind. His usual unworried expression held an extra layer of nonchalance.

The elevator waiting area was a brightly lit semi-circle that gave way to a broad archway. Topside Dome’s wide open arcade was beyond, boasting three levels of above-surface facilities and a conglomeration of auxiliary structures connected to the main hub. A terraced cone of oxygen producing plants hung from the ceiling, its tip invisible below the perimeter catwalk. Just as Hera expected, the octagonal floor pattern continued into Topside Dome along with the bright recessed lighting and clean, utilitarian lines.

Hera smiled and started to turn to Kanan, but turned back around as a world-worn group appeared around the corner. They were six strong, dressed in a combination of drab tunics and form-fitting leather. Their skin ranged from yellow to pink to blue, and flashed like a rainbow as their lekku swayed easily with their steps.

One of the females, a tiny thing with yellow-brown skin and thick lekku, spun to face a middle-aged male.

“Shame, shame, cousin!” she teased in lilting tones sprinkled with laughter. “I’m going to tell Jela that you were looking at another male!”

The pale green male grumbled and folded his arms. “It only counts as cheating if I do something!” he defended and curled the tips of his lekku backwards. Hera stared at the gesture until her brow creased. Finally, she remembered. Pretending. He was just pretending to be mad.

It had been years since she’d heard her home tongue used so freely. Whenever she encountered other Twi’leks they spoke together in Basic if they spoke at all. Sometimes she would dream in Ryl, but those were usually sad memories she washed away with her morning shower.

As the group passed on their way to the elevator, the Twi’leks laughed at the green male’s feigned indignity and continued their conversations. All of them but one who simply listened to the others. She wore a brown leather headband with the typical spiked ear-caps. Her jacket wasn’t Rylothian, but more galactic with a high collar and ladder stitching up the arms. Although she was the least ornamented of the females, Hera immediately knew her to be the leader for two reasons. First, by her lekku. They were long and tapered with thick black clan tattoos spiraling over her cobalt skin. Second, Hera knew this Twi’lek was the leader because she had met her once before.

A shiver ran up Hera’s spine into her skull as her mind filled with memories. Without thinking, her mouth formed the name: “Talik.”

The blue-skinned Twi’lek looked up, but there was no recognition in her face. Her subconscious might have heard Hera, but that was all. Talik calmly scanned the crowd as her group made for the elevator, pressing in with the others. Her gaze barely paused as it passed over Hera, just another face in a room full of strangers.

Hera was surprised to find that her feet were still moving. Muttering Talik’s name had been her only reaction to the surprise sighting. Just a year ago, she might have frozen up or even tried to hide when she saw Talikー two reactions that were sure to draw immediate attention. It said something about how far she’d come during her time spying on Imperial bureaucrats and slinking through cantinas that she’d hardly reacted when faced with this unexpected encounter.

Taking in a satisfied breath, Hera heard a voice rise above the din.

“Are you okay, buddy?” it asked in trilly Basic.

There was an echo of metal as Kanan stumbled forward and caught himself with a heavy stomp. One hand clutched to his head while the other reached for the wall.

Hera hadn’t finished turning around before she was running to him.

The passersby slowed to stare, but didn’t stop. As soon as Hera appeared, the concerned Rodian who had spoken backed away.

“Kanan? What’s wrong?” She took him by the shoulders and tried to look into his face.

He pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead. He was sweating. His body was hot to the touch. Through gritted teeth he said, “It’s fine. It’s nothing.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, frantic. She’d never seen Kanan like this before. Not even after his night-terrors which had awoken her a few times as they experimented with sleeping next to one another.

With a shallow breath, Kanan wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s… It must have been that security guy. He messed up my head.”

Hera frowned. She knew that talking to telepaths was uncomfortable, but she’d never heard of anyone having this strong of a negative reaction, especially not a human. Then again, Kanan wasn’t an average human.

The tips of her lekku twitched. “Do we need to leave?” she asked, her voice grave.

Kanan straightened up, but kept his hand on the wall for balance. His chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace. “It’s the telepaths,” he said almost to himself. “It’s nothing.”

“Do you want to wait back on the ship?” She bent down, still trying to look him in the face.

The idea registered in Kanan’s features, first as relief, then indecision, and finally as alarm.

“No,” he said. “I’ll stay. I can– it’ll just take me a few minutes to get used to it. We should keep moving. Maybe that will help.”

“Are you sure? You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks,” he groaned and forced his feet forward.

Hera's face crinkled in worry and she offered her arm as they moved towards the archway into the arcade. Kanan gave a weak smile and waved her away. He was still pressing his hand into this temple when they exited the vestibule.

Before they left turned the corner, Hera glanced back. The elevator doors stood open. Talik, the blue-skinned member of Free Ryloth stood like a statue with her eyes trained on Hera Syndulla. Hera met her gaze and kept her face and posture impassive. After a few seconds the older woman nodded to one of her entourage. He pressed the controls and the doors slid closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow updates on this story on my Tumblr at  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/journeytotheblackmountain


	3. Drinks and Drinks (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan and Hera go to the Drinks and Drinks cantina to look for Giza's crew while Kanan fights a growing sense of danger.

It wasn’t the telepath that had messed with Kanan’s head. It was something else. He’d spent half his life trying to leave it behind, but it just wouldn’t go. Wanted or unwanted, helpful or harmful: the kriffing Force.

Kanan followed the walkway that encircled Topside Dome’s wide-open atrium. Occasionally he let his fingers trail along the smooth, cool metal of the railing. It was interrupted by regular seams that caught the tips of his fingernails and every fifty feet there was a gap where a pillar ran from the floor to the walkway above. Topside had three levels of shops and businesses, most of them open to the center area.

He glanced at the enormous inverted cone of jungle green foliage that hung from the dome’s ceiling. Yellow-white flowers clustered around its midsection like a hundred thousand tiny faces. They should have been resonating in the Force, like a life-support unit quietly humming in the next room. But they weren’t. They were silent. Just like everything else.

Frustrated, he rubbed his eye. This wasn’t like the dreams he had sometimes. It wasn’t even like the nightmares. It wasn’t like the other times the Force had forced its way into his mind to warn him of some danger or lead him down a better path, either. Pushing his hand up to his hairline, Kanan scowled across the open interior of Topside Dome with its graceful catwalks and bright, full-spectrum lighting. His sharp eyes took in the neon signs of noisy cafes and the polished placards of respectable firms. They followed the movements of modest beings going about their daily business with ease and security. The longer he watched the more certain he became. It was the place, not the people. Something about Polis Massa was _empty_.

As Kanan scrutinized his surroundings with a looming brow, Hera kept pace to his left. She was watching him as much as she was watching where they were going. Her thin eyebrows pulled together over her bright green eyes and her mouth tightened with worry. They hadn’t even made it a quarter of the way around the dome before she was checking on him again.

“There’s a bench over there,” she said, nodding to a break in the railing that led down a short flight of stairs to the central courtyard. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No. It’s getting better,” he lied and worked his eyebrows in a physical effort to relax his face. He tried a smile, but it was short-lived.

Hera’s own mouth pulled down at the corners. He pretended not to notice.

They turned at the first corner towards the western bridge connecting the main hub to the miners’ quarters. In addition to having archaeological points of interest, the little planetoid also boasted a strong vein of baradium sulfate, the cousin compound to the stuff Kanan used to haul from Gorse to Cynda. It wasn’t a quarter as powerful as the baradium-357 that had almost destroyed the entire moon, but it was still nasty enough. Moving aside to let a group of miners in dusty coveralls step into the atrium’s light, Kanan reflected on how much he didn’t miss the suicide flyer life-style.

His eyes settled on Hera. He probably would have let Cynda be destroyed it hadn’t been for her. She’d swooped into his life with all the fury and brilliance of a comet and pulled him up into her long, focused orbit. As he watched her from the corner of his eye, Kanan felt the twitch of a smile pulling at his lips. Whatever this weird game was the Force was playing with him, he wouldn’t let it win.

“So this person we’re supposed to meet,” Kanan said. “What’s his name again?”

She glanced up with those bright green eyes before answering. “Giza. He’s supposed to be coming into port tomorrow, but he always sends an envoy ahead of him.”

“Ah. Making sure things are smooth before he gets here?”

She nodded. “That’s what it looks like.”

Kanan took a deep breath. Talking to her was helping him to focus and pushing the hollow feeling to the back of his mind. “So we’re looking for Giza’s crew, not Giza,” he asked even though it wasn’t a question.

They’d reached another lighted archway and Hera pressed the control. The doors hissed open onto a long corridor set with thick panels of transparasteel. To either side stretched a ghostly vista: the asteroid’s barren surface speckled with craters. In the black sky, eons-old rubble floated in suspended animation, neither fleeing the destroyed planetoid nor trying to rebuild it.

The land bridge wasn’t crowded, but there were enough beings moving in either direction that Kanan and Hera put their discussion on hold. As they marched forward, they passed a cluster of Kallidahins coming from the other direction. It was clear from their posture that they were talking to one another, faces bent together and knobby-jointed hands gesticulating gracefully. Hera’s shoulders stiffened when they walked by and she glanced at Kanan more than once. But the smooth-faced beings were focused on their private conversation, not the passersby.

Kanan forced a short laugh. “Must be nice to be able to have a private conversation whenever you want.”

Hera gave a weak smile and nodded, returning her attention to the corridor with a worried bent to her face.

Kanan’s chest gave a pang of remorse. She still thought it was the Kallidahin’s telepathy that was hurting him. He didn’t like the idea of lying to her– not on any level. But he also didn’t want her to worry, especially about something neither one of them could do anything about. The Force would run its course and eventually leave him alone. It had happened a hundred times before and it would happen a thousand times again. When would it figure out that Kanan Jarrus was out of the Jedi business for good? It’d probably take a few lifetimes. The Force had never been too bright (stubborn was a better word) and he didn’t expect it to change its ways anytime soon.

It was only another minute before they reached the end of the bridge. The doors opened as an Ugnaught in front of them passed through. Hera slowed her pace. Following her gaze, Kanan saw the start of a low-ceilinged network of corridors. Although in good repair, this part of the complex lacked the airy openness of Topside Dome. The ceilings were low and the passageways narrow. There were no open atriums or foliage, just the same recessed lighting and smooth grey panels.

Not too far into the network sat a cantina. Even with the ample light in the hallway, the entrance held a shadowy appearance. Its double-doors were narrow and low under a heavy arch. To both sides, magenta neon signs blazed in Basic, Sullustese, and a half-dozen other languages. _Drinks and Drinks_ , they announced as an old, automated poster of a human female took a sip from a cocktail class, offered a wink, and sipped again.

The Ugnaught exchanged a few grunts with another of his kind lingering outside before continuing on his way. The doors opened and a massive wall of blonde-brown fur squeezed through, avoiding hitting his head, but not avoiding tripping over the second Ugnaught. _“Aaarrghht!”_ the Wookie protested as the stout little being squealed a long complaint. The Wookie shirked responsibility with a wave if his lanky arms and then sauntered deeper into the miners’ enclave.

Suddenly, Kanan felt a lot more comfortable. “A bar?” he said and laughed around a smile. “This is my kind of mission.”

“We’re not here to play around.” Hera’s voice was already beginning to take on that no-nonsense tone. “We’re here to learn about Giza and make contact with his crew.” Her eyes flashed to the darkened doorway and back to his face. “Are you sure you’re up for it?” she asked.

As Kanan thought of a reply, the muffled beat of music from the cantina stretched away. The hallway in front of him shimmered at the edges. His balance quavered, but before the feeling could overpower him again, he leaned one arm against the wall and flashed Hera his most confident smile, even as his neck began to sweat.

“Sure am,” he winked. “As long as you’re buying.”

She shook her head, making her lekku sway. He prepared himself for the admonition, but it never came. Instead, she smirked up at him. “I think I can arrange a spiced martini or two.” Kanan’s smile widened until she poked a finger into his chest. “ _After_ we complete the mission.”

As she turned towards the door, Kanan noticed how her hips moved just a little more than usual and let her long, tattooed lekku swing freely behind her back. It looked like it wasn’t going to be _no_ -nonsense, but _some_ -nonsense.

Kanan fell into step behind her just as a flash of movement nearly twisted his head from his neck. A shadow darted from one corridor to the next, faster than any human could run. It bolted, full tilt, into an unseen corridor, the flap of its cloak and the blur of dark boots barely discernable. Kanan’s hand instinctively brushed against his blaster as the hairs rose on the back of his neck. He looked to the loitering Ugnaught who was still brushing off his coveralls and then to Hera. Neither one of them had noticed.

Hera was waiting for him with one hand propping the automatic door open. A song heavy with trumpets and drums pulsed into the hallway.

“Are you coming?” she asked.

Anyone else would have missed how her smile faltered at the corners of her eyes. She was still worried about him.

Kanan tightened his mental resolve. If this place wanted to mess with him it would have to do a lot better than that. He gave Hera what he was sure was another winning smile and set his hand against the door sensor above hers.

“After you,” he said and resisted the urge to honey the words with a layer of bravado.

Hera’s smile was smug in return, but pleased. She acquiesced to his gentlemanly gesture and slipped into the music-thick room, Kanan right behind.


	4. Drinks and Drinks (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan and Hera find Giza's crew, but things don't go as planned.

Smooth lines, chrome walls, and the kind of cylindrical tables that didn’t let you get too close. The bar ran along the right-hand wall and was lined with stools covered in plush, red felt and bolted to the floor. Instead of shelves of booze, a polished mirror on the wall gave the illusion of a wider space. Not that  _Drinks and Drinks_  was small. The open floor boasted at a dozen tables, some of the ones in the back rather large and properly designed to allow beings to sit comfortably without twisting their legs. From one of these tables burst a roll of laughter. Three players threw down their Sabacc cards while another scooped up the winnings.

The sudden noise made Kanan’s skin itch and he turned away, immediately searching for something else to focus on. He found it in the glass being raised by a Sullustan. Astral Gateways were a popular drink at space station watering holes like this one. The brilliant blue liquid spun and sparkled as the Sullustan tipped the bowl-shaped glass to his mouth. Kanan could practically taste the sweet liqueur and feel the burn of tiny bubbles down his throat.

Hera led them to the bar where there were a few stools open. She took a seat while he leaned against the rail. When the bartender passed by, he nodded to get her attention.

“Two Agua Fresca with a wedge,” he said and the bartender got to work, unfazed by the non-alcoholic order.

The wide glasses slid easily across the chrome bar top. Kanan immediately dropped the fruit-slice into the carbonated water and took a drink. Hera left hers untouched. She was already scanning the area.

Forty sentients. That’s the number Kanan put on the patrons in the cantina. It was obviously a worker’s crowd. At least half were in the drab, gray coveralls of the baradium sulfite mine. Unlike on some other worlds (or half worlds, in this case), the workers were neither exhausted nor disgruntled. They were kicking back after their shifts, talking with friends, and mingling with newcomers. A few of them bobbed their heads along with the music. It was probably only a matter of time before someone’d had enough drinks to start dancing.

“Everyone looks so… normal,” Kanan mused as he threw back another mouthful. He was treating his Fresca like it was a real drink. He stared at the bottom of the empty glass, rotating the last drop around the bottom. Old habits.

“This is what happens when people get fair pay for fair work,” Hera said as she completed her once-over. Reaching for her glass she settled in more comfortably on the velvet-topped stool. After sampling the drink she rubbed the effervescence off of her nose. In a low voice she added, “This is what we’re fighting for.”

Kanan nodded absently as he signaled the bartender again, gesturing to his empty glass.

They spent the next hour ordering beverages that became blander with each swallow. Hera made two fake trips to the fresher, walking slowly so she could listen in on conversations as she passed by, but these excursions revealed nothing except the cleanliness of the stalls. Kanan worked his magic on a few beings along the bar, including the bartender, an older human woman from the Chandrila system. They were happy to chat once he’d cracked a few jokes and flashed his languid smile, but none of them were with salvage crews and most of them hadn’t been off-planetoid in a while, or longer.

Hera was just coming back from her third trip to the fresher when a small-statured Gran settled onto the stool next to her. She and Kanan exchanged a look. Hera nodded over her shoulder, but Kanan jutted his chin and tilted his head. In the end, Hera turned to face the mirrored wall behind the bar. She laced her fingers, biding her time. As soon as the Gran had her Correlian ale in her six-fingered hand, Hera’s face broke into a smile. She was on.

With Hera’s back turned, Kanan allowed himself to pinch the bridge of his nose. The flat, empty feeling had been crawling up his arms and scraping at his back. Listening and watching for signs of Giza’s crew was becoming impossible with the blank sensation radiating from the walls, floor, and ceiling. Every voice in  _Drinks and Drinks_  sounded like it was right next to his ear. Any time a patron raised an appendage to order a drink or raised their voice in conversation, Kanan’s shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched shut. Now, an hour later, it had reached the point where he was struggling to concentrate on anything at all. All he could do was frown and watch his fingertips change from white to tan as he pressed them against the glass of carbonated water.

Hera hadn’t noticed his condition yet, and he was grateful. He couldn’t really attribute her lack of awareness to the low lighting; Twi’leks had better night vision than most species, including humans. No, she was simply focused on the mission. He admired her laser focus. It allowed her to see things through with a thoroughness and efficiency that would have impressed a Neimoidian industrialist.

Kanan pushed out a huff of air and ran his hand down the length of his ponytail. His eyes flashed to Hera’s back as she chatted with the Gran. The conversation seemed to be going well from the light laughter that floated his way. Hera’s musical chortle washed over him. Even plying for information, she still managed to be charming.

Surreptitiously, Kanan glanced in the mirror at the chrono stuck behind the bar. Every barkeep had one and he knew right where to look, by the cash machine. His face pinched when he saw the time. There was another two or three hours left before the cantina would start to wind down. Hera would want to stay until then if they hadn’t spotted Giza’s crew. And if they had, the getting-to-know-you conversations had the potential to go on all night and at this rate, he didn’t know if he was going to make it.

Leg bouncing restlessly, Kanan summoned the bartender with a half-wave of his empty glass.

“Still thirsty?” the older woman asked, already reaching for the fruit wedges.

He leaned forward. “Gold bourbon,” he said. “Double.”

The bartender glanced at Hera, now deep in conversation with the Gran, and cracked a smirk. She stealthily poured the drink and slid it to him from the far side of the bar. Kanan put down the credits and scooped up the square-bottomed tumbler in one smooth motion motion. He pulled in a full whiff of the strong aroma through his nose and savored the promise of the sweet and smoky tones. Then, with the practice of a thousand wild nights, he slammed back the liquor. Slow and glorious, the gold bourbon burned its way down his gullet and settled into a familiar glow at the bottom of his ribcage. Kanan licked the corner of his mouth, already wishing for more.

Hera slid off of her stool, briefly set her hand on the Gran’s shoulder, and muttered, “Thanks again.” The Gran smiled with her toothy snout before returning her attention to her drink. Hera wasted no time. She tilted her head towards the room. She’d found them.

Careful not to rush, Kanan and Hera abandoned their stools at the bar and wove between the chairs and patrons to one of the larger tables in the front corner. The glossy chrome tabletop was littered with empty glasses of various sizes and shapes. Four beings sat under the white lamp, one of them particularly large.

Kanan had never seen this species before. The creature was larger than your average humanoid, with wide shoulders that somehow managed to look slim despite the obvious musculature. He was covered in short, purple fur accented with dark stripes. His ears were pointed and his flattened nose sat squarely between glaring eyes. Like many species, he had a beard edging his jawline and a long lock of hair distending from his chin.

And he was loud.

“Think you’ll outsmart me this time?” He leaned over the table, green eyes bulbous and wide. The others regarded him with skeptical glances as they studied their cards, one, an emerald Rodian with a long crest of floppy tendrils, sank down in his chair. The large creature leaned ever closer to him until he shifted his snout and looked away. The purple hulk’s deadly expression danced from intensity to amusement. “So, do we have a bet?”  he asked.

One by one the players either shrugged or spat, each throwing down their cards in turn. He laughed and tossed his unrevealed cards on top of the kitty. With a roguish grin that stretched from ear to ear, he pulled the clattering credits into his arms while the others pretended not to mind or notice. The Rodian skidded his chair back and walked away, barely avoiding bumping into Hera as he passed.

It was then that the two remaining players, both humans, finally noticed Kanan and Hera lurking nearby. One was a middle-aged woman with red hair and tired skin. The other was a leathery stick of a man who could have been any age from twenty-five to forty.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry for interrupting,” Hera said, smiling politely. “I was wondering if you were part of the salvage crew we heard was docking soon.”

The woman gave a guarded frown while the other folded his arms. It wasn’t exactly a ‘no,’ and from the rough look of them, Kanan assumed that that was probably the best answer they were going to get.

When no one spoke, Hera continued. “We were hoping to talk to you for a few minutes.”

The mahogany-skinned man rolled his eyes to the purple creature still counting his credits. The empty glasses and money jumped as he kicked the underside of the table.

“Hey!” the creature growled, flattening his ears to his skull and bearing sharp, alabaster teeth. The man said nothing, only raising his bushy eyebrows and nodding to the waiting pair.

With shoulders hunched, the purple being turned his head. His massive eyes looked Kanan from head to foot, lingered a second on his blaster, and then passed to Hera. His lips curled back to unleashed a vicious snarl.

“I thought I told you not to come back,” he rumbled, a broad twang pulling at the syllables.

Hera’s thin eyebrows furrowed, but she didn’t take a step back, even as the powerful stench of alcohol rolled over them. “I’m sorry. Have we met?” she asked.

The giant waved a wide, clawed hand. “I told you once and I’m not telling you again. Giza doesn’t do business with your kind.”

“Watch it, buddy.” Kanan was surprised to hear his own voice snap. From the corner of his eye, he saw the tips of Hera’s lekku curl forward. He didn’t know a lot about Twi’lek gestures, but he’d seen this one enough times to know that she wasn’t happy.

The globular green eyes shifted back to Kanan and the pale, purple lip curled in another snarl.

Hera raised a hand diplomatically and glanced at Kanan only long enough to show him the determined set to her jaw.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said. “We’re not with whoever you were talking to before. We just arrived a few hours ago. I’m the captain of an independent freighter and we have a proposition to discuss with Giza.”

“Is that so?” the creature growled before looking to his companions. Both the red-haired woman and the skinny man nodded in reply to an unspoken question, their expressions grim.

Slowly screeching his chair over the floor, the giant stood up. His formidable weight rested on two splay-toed feet the supported him like tree trunks. Even at full height, he wasn’t as tall as Kanan expected. The odd shape of his legs and bend to his posture kept him from being more than a full head taller than he was, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t enormous.

Hera stood her ground and never once broke eye-contact. Tilting her head back she answered, “Yes, it is.”

With concerted effort, Kanan squared his shoulders and clenched his fists to keep from reaching for his blaster. At the table, the two humans’ grim expression had turned into expectant smirks.

That was when the bottle smashed against the wall.

Bright pink liquid exploded over the chrome siding with a sparkle of glass. Kanan and Hera ducked in unison, shielding themselves from the splatter of shards and alcohol. With their arms still over their heads, they looked back to where the crested Rodian stood in the middle of the room. He was breathing hard and nearly turquoise with anger. A hush fell over the cantina as all eyes turned to him. Even the uninterrupted pulse of music only served to enhance the shocked silence.

“What the  _kriff_ , Chugo?” The woman pushed her red hair aside, a large arc of pink staining her sleeve.

The Rodian, Chugo, pointed a suction-tipped finger at the hulking, purple mass. “He cheats!” he tinned. “He cheats, and I’m sick of it!”

The skinny man slammed his palms on the tabletop, shaking the glasses. “Are you out of your mind?” he bellowed. “Zeb ain’t no cheater!”

The great, purple giant wiped the mess from his right shoulder with a mit of a palm before scraping his ear. He growled a low sound. “Who needs to cheat against a lousy Sabacc player like you?” He flicked away a shard of glass from the back of his hand. “You practically give your credits away.”

Chugo’s whole body was shaking. Except for his hands.

Even with his senses dulled, Kanan knew what was coming next. He grabbed Hera and dove to the ground. But before red blaster bolts could lance overhead, Zeb leapt at his attacker and had the Rodian by the throat a second before he could get his blaster clear of the holster. Kanan couldn’t help but thinking that if the weapon had been made with Rodians in mind he might have drawn it in time. As it was, the weapon dangled from Chugo’s round-tipped fingers, as useless as it was incriminating.

Fur bristling, the goliath raised the Rodian into the air, inch by inch, until his feet were kicking for the floor. A few of the patrons cried out in alarm as they darted away from their tables. Glasses scattered and shattered against the floor in a whiff of alcohol and spiced mixers.

“Who are you calling a cheat, you backstabbing piece of  _karabast!”_  Zeb shouted and with a grunt, sent the Rodian sailing across the room. More screams accompanied the symphony of breaking bottles and glasses as Chugo landed behind the bar. The bartender was plastered against the wall, gaping down at what Kanan could only assume was Chugo’s battered form. Her world-wary face twisted up in alarm and rage.

“Get that Lasat out of my place!” she screamed, pointing to Zeb. “Get out!”

Zeb snarled at the proprietress and his ears dropped to an outward point. Patrons crunched broken glass beneath their shoes as they got out of the way. The striped, lavender giant gave a disgusted sound as he made for the door. It opened and shut with a hiss, interrupted by a grunt as his shoulder bumped against the the doorjamb.

The oblivious pulse of trumpets and drums was heavy, but empty. The patrons looked awkwardly at one another, their faces painted with confusion and remorse. A few wait staff hurried around the bar to tend to poor Chugo.

Kanan picked himself off the floor, Hera right beside him.  _Drinks and Drinks_  had definitely looked better when they first arrived. Shattered glass aside, the pink alcohol on the wall was already starting to congeal at the edges into a transparent, stick magenta. The spattering of toppled chairs gave the place the look of a ransacked room. Then, all at once, everyone burst into chatter. With shaking heads and shrugging shoulders, they immediately began to recount the events that had just transpired. A few groups slapped credits down on their tables and edged for the door. Still others others pointed at the now empty sabacc table and, consequently, the two people left standing in front of it.

Hera leaned in and whispered harshly. “Security’s probably coming,” she said. “We’d better get out of here, too.”

Kanan gave a nod. “Good idea.”

As they made for the door, Kanan exchanged shocked, remorseful looks with the other patrons. After a second, he shared a long glance with the bar tender. The older woman passed a bar towel full of ice to a waiter who disappeared behind the bar, presumably to apply it to some abused part of Chugo’s body. Kanan offered her a shake of his head that was part apology and part confusion, but all she had in return was a hard stare that followed him and Hera out door.

As soon they emerged into the passageway, Kanan and Hera increased their pace towards the land bridge. They had hardly left  _Drinks and Drinks_  behind before the sound of boots was echoing through the narrow corridors behind them. Kanan quickened his step and Hera followed.

With a slight tremor at the edge of his senses, the hollow feeling that had been pushed to the back of his mind by the past few minutes’ excitement moved in like an advancing tide. Kanan squeezed his eyes closed, refusing to lose his balance or clutch his head again. He wouldn’t let it in. He could fight it. He powered forward, ignoring the alertness pulsing in his ears. His breath was coming faster and every time they passed a side corridor his hair stood on end, warning him of potential danger, but he refused to give in and look. He stayed focused on the goal up ahead: the brightly lit expanse of the land bridge.

“Wait! I’ve got an idea.” Hera stopped short, her lekku whipping forward. She spun around and trotted to the entrance of the last corridor.

Kanan rushed back after her. “What are you doing? We need to hurry,” he said, even as the thunder of boots rose and fell from some unseen direction.

Hera ignored him and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey! You!” she shouted down the passageway.

Halfway down the hall at one of the honeycombed junctions, the Lasat turned his great, bulbous eyes on them.

“This way!” Hera called, waving her hand for him to follow.

Kanan grabbed, her arm, forcing it down. “Are you crazy? We can’t help him!”

“Yes, we can,” she said and pushed his hands off of her arm. “Now start figuring a way to get us back to the  _Ghost_.”

“Are you kidding?” Kanan gawked. His nerves were on end. This day was getting crazier by the second.

Hera stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly. Zeb’s ears twitched at the sharp sound. He was still looking back and forth down the corridors.

“You got another idea?” she called out to him. “Let’s go!”

With a frustrated grunt that shook his whole body, the Lasat loped towards Kanan and Hera. His teeth gnashed out a single word:  _“Karabast!”_


	5. Lasan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan learns about the fate of Lasan. Hera learns that Kanan was drinking on the job.

There was a thin whine as Chopper’s photoreceptors focused and then focused again. The battered dome rotated to face Hera, black lenses brimming with incredulity.

“Hrrpp? Hrrpp-m-wopp? HRRPP-M-WOPP?”

But Hera wasn’t in any shape to answer. She grit her teeth and heaved. Zeb took another sloppy step forward followed by another. To her left, Kanan bore the brunt of the imposing mass. The toes of his boots scraped against the metal ramp as they pulled the drunken Lasat the last few meters onto the Ghost.

It had been in the elevator that they had finally figured it out. Zeb, the gargantuan mass of muscle, claws, and teeth, was drunk as a back-rim nerf herder on pay day. The same adrenaline rush that had seen him through the altercation with Chugo had quickly abandoned his system, leaving a chemical vacuum that the alcohol swimming in his bloodstream’d been all too ready to fill. Struggling under his weight now, Hera recalled the large collection of empty glasses on the Sabacc table in the cantina. She’d assumed they were the remains of four beings drinking over several hours. Now she suspected she had been dead wrong. And the evidence was sloppily shuffling his way into her cargo hold.

As soon as Zeb’s furry, purple toes crossed the threshold, Hera slipped out from under his long arm and made for the door controls. Kanan staggered the last two steps before angling himself to deposit him on the floor. He moved carefully at first, but then either slipped or gave up, and the great, sagging weight thudded onto the deck. Zeb mumbled something vaguely aggressive and waved one of his clawed hands in the air before letting it flop back down. Face to the floor, he flicked his pointed ears. The next sound from him was the delicate rhythm of deep breathing.

Kanan wiped his nose with the back of his hand and then shook his head quickly, squinting. “Has this guy ever heard of a shower?”

Hera couldn’t argue. Not only was he large and loud, but he smelled of alcohol and something else she could only assume was his natural scent. Her fine eyebrows raised a fraction at the thought of being trapped in a small-quarters cockpit with him on a long hyperspace trip.

Near exhausted, Hera set her hands on her knees as the cargo door clanged shut. She took in a few deep breaths to steady her breathing and straightened her back. It gave a little crack which she rubbed with her fingertips.

“So, Captain Hera.” Her head popped up to where Kanan was rolling out his right shoulder, stretching out the muscles and tendons. He was so flexible that his arm lay flat across his chest. “Care to let me in on your great idea?”

Next to Zeb’s prone form, Chopper rolled to a stop. She could practically hear his binary circuits preparing to process her answer. “Ggg-wom-wom-rr-bbrrrr.” 

Hera looked between the two of them before closing her eyes and letting her lekku hang loosely behind her shoulders as she spoke. “Did you hear what the bartender called him?” she asked gesturing to the purple mass. “She called him a ‘Lasat.’ Do you know what the Empire did to the Lasats?”

Kanan shook his head. “Don’t know and I’m about to not care,” he said and nudged Zeb with his boot. He gave no response except for a deepened snore. “Why’d you want us to stick our necks out for some drunken brawler?”

Hera let Kanan’s words hang in the air. She folded her arms and set her weight on one hip, waiting. It was only a few seconds before recognition registered across his face.

“Come on,” he said raising his palms and gesturing back to the floor. “I was never that bad.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Well, at least you’ve never had to carry me back to the ship and have me pass out on the floor.”

Hera gave a small shake of her head, refusing to dignify his comment with a response. Tired, she set her palms on the edge of an empty container and slid onto it as a makeshift chair. It was getting late. Their efforts at the cantina had drained her more than she’d thought and now, after carrying a quarter ton of drunken Lasat onto her ship, her body was winding down– and quickly.

Kanan on the other hand seemed awake enough for the both of them. He continued to stretch and ran his hand over his hair and down his ponytail, stopping at his neck to roll his head back and then from side to side. The pop of stiff vertebrae bounced against the durasteel walls.

“Are you feeling better?” Hera asked after a moment.

“Yeah, actually,” he said letting his hand linger on the back of his neck before allowing it drop to his side with a smack.

“I should have warned you about the Polis Massans,” she said dipping her head into her shoulders. “I didn’t even think about…”

Kanan’s bright eyes widened at the unfinished sentence, but only for a second.

He shrugged. “Hey, I’m just as surprised as you. Let’s try to avoid them from here on out, though. Deal?”

“Deal.” Hera’s and Kanan’s smiles reflected one another for a quick second before Chopper interrupted the moment by mumbling and nudging Zeb’s hand with his wheel.

“Whrrr-gghh-mp-mmm.”

“I don’t know, Chop.” Hera sighed as she looked down on the sleeping form. “It could be an hour. It could be five.”

“Let’s try not to let it go on that long.” Kanan stepped around Zeb’s long, awkwardly jointed legs as Hera scooted to the side, making room for him on the container. He hadn’t made it two steps before Chopper’s dome spun around with unsettling quickness. Kanan took a half-step back. His wide, blue-green eyes met the mechanical whir of Chopper’s beady, black photoreceptors.

“It’s okay, Chop,” Hera said in sing-song tones. “Nothing’s going to happen. We have a guest.” She gestured to the floor as its occupant gave a hearty gurgle.

Kanan used the distraction to retreat to Hera’s side and slide onto the crate next to her. The solid warmth of his body immediately seeped into her tired muscles and she longed to lean into it. But with Chopper at optimal ramming distance, she didn’t dare endanger Kanan’s shins– or her own. Instead, she tried another tactic to distract her cantankerous companion and pass a little time.

“Chop, tell us about the Lasats,” she said. “Tap into the archive.”

After a few syllables of grumbling, the cant of Chopper’s body made it clear that his processors were focused on filtering the available information. While they waited, Kanan’s hand drifted up Hera’s back, rubbing her gently between the shoulder blades where Chopper wouldn’t see. She smiled and allowed herself to lean into him minutely. Being so close, her instinct was to set her head on his shoulder and lace her arms around him. Maybe she would eventually slide into his lap and feel the scratch of his beard as she pulled his mouth into a kiss. He would return it with strong, searching hands that–

Hera blinked hard and felt her lekku stiffen as she banished the daydream. It was easy to get distracted when Kanan was nearby. She had to learn how to focus better. She’d always been skilled at compartmentalizing her emotions, but what she felt for Kanan was something she never wanted to put away.

Her brow furrowed. Wasn’t this exactly why she’d denied her feelings for him before? The risk of distraction? In war distractions could mean death, and not just for the one who was unfocused, but for everyone around them. As the fog of worry clouded over her eyes, Hera felt Kanan shift at her side.

“You okay?” he asked peering down at her face.

Blinking, she answered automatically. “Fine,” she said. Her eyes focused again on Zeb and the way his back rose and fell in great, gentle cycles. She wasn’t at war right now. She was in her ship, with Kanan and Chopper and an unexpected guest. It was okay to be distracted because right now, no one’s lives depended on her.

“I was just thinking about the Lasats,” she said. It was only partly a lie, and in another second, Kanan would find out why.

With a series of clicks, Chopper’s holographic display crackled to life. The image he projected onto the floor between them and Zeb was of an Imperial officer. The insignia on his chest marked him as a major. The human male had short, graying hair that stuck out from under his cap around his ears. His nose was broad and his skin dark. The slant to his eyes game him a permanent expression of melancholy.

“Major Tharion Oro of Imperial post one-zero-nine-nine-five reporting on the situation on Lasan, now under the jurisdiction of the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order.” Major Oro’s voice was a deep baritone that rolled smoothly from one word to the next. His eyes never wavered as he gave the report with a level of dispassion that was the paramount of professionalism. “Before the foundation of our glorious Empire, the planet Lasan was a small-capital trading partner. An arboreal world, Lasan has abundant natural resources that the Imperial Review determined early on to be of strategic value.”

Kanan tensed slightly. Anywhere that was deemed to have “strategic value” in Palpatine’s empire could only look forward to one fate which Major Oro went on to describe.

“Imperial reorganization was highly successful, spreading meaningful employment and greater purpose to the planet’s here-to-fore underproductive sentient population. Export volume and quality, trade activities, infrastructure, and cultural elevation activities have all improved.”

Hera’s stomach gave a sickly tug at the words “meaningful employment” which was more accurately described as “forced labor.” What had happened on Lasan was the same thing the Empire had been trying on Ryloth for years, and what was still happening on scores of worlds throughout the galaxy.

“Twenty-five days ago, Imperial Security Bureau agents uncovered a plot by the Lasan Royal Family to secede from the Empire. Diplomatic and military officers were dispatched for immediate resolution, but they were met with hostility.”

A cold laugh escaped Kanan’s throat as he mumbled, “I bet they were.”

“Predictably, the Lasat leadership denied any knowledge of the conspiracy and, when presented with key evidence, forcibly expulsed the Imperial officers. At present, the planet’s urban zones lie 80 percent destroyed. Key industrial areas have suffered 60 percent damage. As of this morning, Imperial forces have taken possession of Lasan’s last remaining insurgent-held spaceport. The majority of transports fleeing the planet have been dealt with by Admiral Pitta’s blockade. The current losses are as follows: 109 Imperial personnel, 31 Wookies, and 368,449 Lasat. No militants or civilians have been detained in the operation.”

Hera could feel the shiver that ran through Kanan’s body. No detentions meant no survivors.

Oro continued with hardly a pause. “It was announced this afternoon that the third phase of the operation, clearing mines to open roads previously controlled by the militants, will begin immediately. The engineering estimates are as follows…”

Just as Oro lifted a datapad, the hologram flickered and jumped as Chopper skipped ahead to the spot where the major tucked the datapad behind his back again. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders in a way that indicated he was coming to the end of his report. “While we’ve heard news that the Imperial Senate is sharply divided over the methods used during the Lasan conflict, we also understand that there is unilateral support of Admiral Pitta’s action against the dissenters. The Commission for the Preservation of the New Order likewise applauds his defense of our new Empire’s integrity and looks forward to the Senate's continued support of this operation. Oro out.”

The Imperial officer’s static-streaked visage faded with the waning light of Chopper’s holo-projector. The cargo hold took on a close silence as Kanan and Hera remained still for a moment, watching the space where he had been.

Kanan’s hand, which had been frozen on her back for most of the report, gave a jerky, uncertain stroke before falling away, leaving a cool shadow on Hera’s skin.

Kanan hesitated before saying, “I didn’t know about that.”

“No one does. They covered it up. This report is the only thing out there, and it never made to the media. I found the recording in a box of garbage.”

He looked at her with a mix of surprise and disbelief.

Hera shrugged again. “People throw out all kinds of stuff. You just need to know where to look.”

After a second, Kanan nodded and returned his gaze to the floor, no comeback ready on his lips. Now wasn’t the time for them. He’d just learned of the near-extinction of an entire species he hadn’t even known existed.

“Gbb-mm…” Chopper mumbled, waiting.

After a minute, Kanan spoke up. “When did…” He didn’t finish his question, but Hera answered it anyway.

“Seven or eight years ago?” she shrugged feebly. “It’s hard to know without reliable public records.”

Kanan remained still, his brow heavy as he watched the air in front of him.

Bit, by bit, Hera’s attention drifted back to Zeb, asleep on the deck of her cargo hold. What had it been like for him during those twenty-five days of fighting? Had he been planet-side, fighting for Lasan’s freedom, or had he been out in the galaxy like he was now?

She remembered her train of thought from before the holovid about the dangers of distraction and wondered if there had been a pair of young lovers on Lasan who could have paid better attention and prevented some facet of that horrific event. Could they have launched an early escape vessel or stored away more food? These were far-fetched thoughts, and yet they lingered in Hera’s mind uncomfortably close.

Finally, her eyes pulled back to Kanan. His dark eyebrows were drawn over sparkling blue-green eyes. His jaw worked pensively and Hera swallowed back the dry feeling that was trying to fill up her mouth.

“Do you think the Empire’s hunting him?” The sudden ruble of Kanan’s voice surprised her, and she considered Kanan’s stony face before replying.

“I can’t think of a reason why they would. Species-wide arrest warrants are banned by the Senate.” She looked back at Zeb.

Kanan’s face was impassive, but the shifting light in his eyes told her that his mind was running in a hundred different directions. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for him to hear this, his own people having suffered a similar fate at the hands of the Empire just before the Lasats met their own terrible end.

Finally, Kanan heaved a sigh and leaned back until his head rested against the wall. Pulling his palms down his face, he mumbled, “I need another drink.”

The sympathetic nod that Hera had prepared suddenly stiffened in her shoulders. She turned to Kanan. “Another?” she repeated.

He froze, wide eyes drifting towards her, betraying his guilt.

Hera’s eyebrows rose sky-high as her silky voice took on a sharper edge. “You were drinking tonight?” she asked. “On a mission? Our first mission?

“No,” he defended in that unconvincingly boyish tone, but at the sight of her stony mien, he stuttered forward. “Well… yes? It was just one– but it was a double– so I guess it was two… technically?”

“Two?” she confirmed.

Kanan cringed and put up his hands, trying to sooth her. “It was only one– two!– and you have to admit we were there for a long time.”

She coughed a bitter laugh. “So while I was trying to find Giza, you were having a drink?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he defended. “I’d barely downed it before glasses and Rodians started flying through the air.”

“Unbelievable.” Shaking her head, she crossed her arms and scowled at the corner of the cargo hold over pursed lips. Not far, Chopper gave a mechanical chuckle. Kanan only glanced at the droid long enough to make sure he wasn’t about to attack before setting his hand on Hera’s shoulder.

“You know me better than that,” he soothed. “I wasn’t trying to endanger the mission. I was just trying to…” His voice dropped off, causing Hera to twist around to look him in the eye.

“What?” she asked firmly, but the hard knot in her voice loosened when she saw his face. He was looking at her with a confused expression, not so much as if he were deciding what to say, but deciding whether or not to say it. Her indignation dropped away and she leaned forward. “What?” she asked again, her voice now laced with concern.

Kanan tilted his head forward before looking away. His hand tightened on her shoulder before it loosened. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, another voice filled the cargo hold.

Zeb gave a soaring grunt before muttering that word again. “Karabast,” he growled as he pushed himself to his elbows. Slowly, he scanned the surroundings until he noticed Kanan and Hera still perched on the storage container. His green eyes were blood-shot, taking on an orange hue. The short, light-purple fur on his face was flat on one side where he’d been laying on it. It was clear to Hera from the way his eyes drifted that the Lasat was still a few lightyears away from sober.

Kanan leaned forward, setting his hands on his knees. “Hey buddy,” he said in a tone that was as carefully non-patronizing. “You need the fresher?”

Zeb looked towards the ceiling and then back down again, hesitating momentarily when he noticed Chopper. The droid made a discontented noise and backed up a few inches, refocusing his lenses. Zeb’s face took on a serious expression, but he didn’t show alarm or confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings and company.

Kanan hopped to the floor and swaggered the few steps to his side. Chopper didn’t even try to shock him as he reached a hand down.

“C’mon,” he said, heaving the Lasat into a sitting position. “Think you can do a ladder?” he asked.

Zeb rocked back on his rear and considered Kanan, tilting up his goateed chin. He wobbled a little as he said, “I’m a Lasat. What do you think?” and articulated his wide, padded toes like a child who’d just taken off his shoes.

Looking back over his shoulder, Kanan’s wry expression was pinched by a foul smell that was just making its way to Hera's side of the cargo hold. “Permission to come fully aboard, captain?” he asked with a helpless sag to his shoulders.

Kanan had been a bartender a dozen times on a dozen worlds and had more experience managing drunken beings from every species than she could ever hope (or want) to acquire. She needed to follow his lead, even if it meant letting 250 pounds of drunken purple into her fresher to do galaxy-knew-what.

As Hera got to her feet, she gave a sigh and looked the Lasat in his alcohol-glazed eyes, wondering if he would even remember this conversation. “Welcome aboard,” she said.


	6. Backward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan and Hera try to figure things out and Zeb drives home a painful lesson.

_For Hera. For Hera. For Hera._

Kanan couldn’t say the words out loud because of the three face masks stretched over his nose. The elastic cords pulled at the backs of his ears, rubbing them raw. Taking a shallow breath, he pressed his eyes shut and let tears wash over his corneas. The sting was a soothing relief from the miasma of cleaning chemicals that surrounded him.

Together he and Hera had gotten Zeb up the ladder and into the fresher, but that was as far as they’d gotten. When the heaving’d started, Kanan had ushered Hera not just out of the fresher, but out of the galley and through the lounge into the main intersection at the center of the _Ghost_. Even with several walls of durasteel between them, the sickening echoes of reverse intoxication made them both cringe. It was only when the chorus stopped several full minutes later that Kanan had heroically asked Hera to prepare a place for their guest to sleep while he collected him. Kanan’s shock at the state of the fresher was outdone only by the fact that Zeb had somehow managed to get none of it on himself. Even his dark purple beard was clear of saliva and debris.

Even now, as he scrubbed, Kanan knew that Hera would have taken it on herself to clean up the splattered, reeking disaster if he hadn’t stepped in right away. After all, it had been her idea to pick up Zeb in the first place. But Kanan felt a responsibility to spare her this horrendous task– a sort of penance for that double gold bourbon at the cantina. Doing something nice to atone for screwing up was a pretty basic move in the relationship handbook, and he hoped that Hera would see the gesture for what it was: a solemn apology. Not that he regretted the drink; it’d had no effect on him and had been much-needed. What he did regret was the disappointment on her face when she thought he hadn’t been taking the mission seriously.

 _The mission._ Kanan was still getting used to the idea of being part of some kind of… he didn’t know what to call it. Resistance? Dissent? Whatever it was, it was exactly the kind of thing he’d been avoiding for the better part of ten years. Moving directly against the Empire was exactly the kind of thing that painted a target on your back, and Kanan’s shoulder blades stirred uneasily at the thought of that. Accepting that he was willfully involved in whatever-this-was was taking more time and effort than he’d expected. On the other hand, accepting that he and Hera were intimately involved was easy, and the fact never failed to pull a smile from his lips every time he remembered it.

The disinfectant bottle _shoosh-shooshed_ as he sprayed on a fresh layer. Degreaser would have been a better choice, but he hadn’t thought of that at the start and now he was committed (mixing chemicals was a bad idea, especially in tight spaces like the _Ghost’s_ fresher). Kanan paused his scrubbing to reach out with a bright green rubber-gloved hand and pick up another chunk of– something. As he flicked the detritus into the garbage pail with the rest of the damage he vowed to avoid yellow corn for the next month.

The air was thick with the scents of citric acid and naked astringency, the smell stuck deep in his nose despite the three layers of filtering fabric. While his eyes fought another wave of tears, he chucked the current rag into the bin and reached for the next one. Four rags later, the fresher gleamed, the substantial depletion of their cleaning supplies the only evidence that a colossally drunken, critically endangered being had lost the equivalent of two lunches and five bottles of vodka in it less than an hour before.

Kanan shed the rubber gloves into the bucket without touching the contaminated surfaces. Back in the galley, he peeled off the face masks, flexing his face and rubbing the backs of his ears where the elastic had dug in. Through the lounge, he could see into the hallway where one of Chopper’s struts was just in view. Hera had it on guard duty watching the spare cabin their visitor was using. Even from this distance, Kanan could hear binary grumblings. At least the droid was staying out of his way. Most days, that was all he could ask for. His skin gave a twinge as he thought back on that afternoon when the robotic beast had tried to shock him and ended up almost killing them all. Kanan wouldn’t forget that– or Chopper’s electro-shock prod– for a long time.

As he watched, the droid’s battered strut gave a shake and it chirruped loudly. Kanan’s eyebrow cocked, expecting to hear the cabin door slide open, but he was greeted by a much more pleasant sight.

Hera gently shushed Chopper as she dragged one hand along its dome and wove towards the galley. For just a moment, Kanan was moonstruck all over again. Her hips swayed slightly as she walked, matching the gentle bounce of her lekku. There was a glow about her, like starlight followed her wherever she went. And when she looked at Kanan with her big, green, world-swallowing eyes, the light seemed to brighten.

“You okay?” she asked in her warm, welcoming voice.

A slow smile smoothed out the lines on Kanan’s face. “Yeah,” he said and closed the remaining space between them. Before she could say anything else, his hands were on her back, lifting her into a kiss. Surprise tightened her shoulders at first, but the tension slipped away and the two sank into a long caress. Kanan found his hands on her face, thumbs gently stroking her cheeks as he kissed her slowly. With a deep inhale, he took in Hera’s scent. There was nothing traditionally feminine about the way she smelled: no perfume, no scented oils, not even a hint of floral body soap. Instead, she was heavy with the attar of recycled air and the day’s sweat caught in her clothes. He knew he couldn’t smell any better. He also knew that she wouldn’t care.

There was a sharp clatter as Hera tossed a data-pad onto the galley table. Her hands now free, she skated her fingers around his belt until they found their way under his tunic. The light touch along his flanks made Kanan’s skin shudder. Instinctively, he leaned into Hera, seeking the warmth of her body. The Imperial report on the destruction of Lasan and the emptiness of Polis Massa had left Kanan agitated, but the feeling had subsided as soon as they’d gotten back to the ship. It wasn’t gone, just kept at bay, waiting for him on the other side of the walls. In the past, he had drunk to forget these annoying spikes in the Force, but that wasn’t who he wanted to be any more, and it wasn’t who Hera needed him to be. The bourbon in the cantina had been a lapse he wouldn’t let happen again, especially when the real panacea was in his arms.

With renewed intensity, Kanan parted Hera’s lips and her body stretched out along his until their shapes melded together. Her fingers splayed across the bare skin on his back. She pulled him closer. For a moment, she broke off their kiss to press her mouth into his palm and run her tongue along the sensitive skin. But she grimaced and pulled in her lips, leaning sharply away. Her face twisted as she puckered her mouth.

“Cleaner?” he asked, concerned.

“Rubber gloves,” she said with a frown, and worked her mouth as if to expel the taste with force of will alone.

Kanan released her and she immediately made for the sink, leaving the chill void of her absence. The moment was over.

While Hera rinsed out her mouth with a glass of water, Kanan turned to the table. He pushed Hera’s datapad back from its precarious position halfway off of the edge, and as his fingers grazed the surface, the screen came to life.

 _Polis Massa Security Bulletin_ announced itself in bold yellow lettering at the top of the screen. Kanan craned his head into alignment and scrolled through, but came to the bottom too quickly. Immediately, he returned to the top and scanned again.

“He’s not on there,” Hera said between gulps.

Kanan’s eyebrow lifted as he went through the list for a third time. There were two reports of missing informational maps, a fist fight outside a customs broker’s office, and a complaint about maintenance construction, but that was all.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “There’s no mention of a Rodian, the cantina… anything.”

Hera placed her cup in the sink. “Maybe no one reported it?” she suggested.

“We know that’s not true.” He scrolled through the list one last time for good measure. As he frowned he asked, “Do you think the owner has a contact with the security force? Something to keep her place out of the bulletin?”

“Maybe.” Hera joined him leaning against the table. “But I didn’t get that feeling from her.”

“Me, neither.” Kanan turned off the screen and shook his head. “So… what? They chased him to the overpass bridge, but then gave up? Someone’s gotta know somebody. That’s the only explanation.”

Confusion tightened the corners of Hera’s eyes. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I’m just saying, why would security chase him through half of the station and then forget about him? No one even stopped us on the way to the _Ghost_.”

“We didn’t encounter any security,” Hera said.

“I know. We must have just missed them. Sure were loud enough, though.” He gave half a shrug and tossed the datapad onto the bench, tired of looking at it. Next to him, Hera shifted to face him more directly.

“Now you’re not making any sense,” she said. “There was no security out tonight.”

“Sure there was. You could hear their boots half a level away. Probably woke up the whole block.”

Hera was quiet as she watched him. “Polis Massa Security doesn’t wear boots.” She said the words slowly, like she was revealing a secret. “And they probably couldn’t stomp if they wanted to.”

Kanan looked her in the eyes as the tension grew in his head. His brow furrowed into a tight knot of thoughts. The altercation at the cantina, the proprietress shouting, the noise of stomping boots in the honey-comb of hallways, Hera calling to Zeb...

Only she’d been calm the whole time. It had been Kanan who’d rushed them along. Had he misread the whole situation? Was she just helping out a drunk who’d been ditched by his companions in the hopes of making an ally? It seemed likely, now that he was thinking it through. Hera already knew about the Lasat, knew that Zeb was connected to Giza. It was a solid play. In fact, Kanan was shocked that he hadn’t come up with the plan himself. But there was still one element loomed unexplained: if it wasn’t security he’d heard stampeding towards them, who had it been?

The hairs rose on the back of his neck, tingling from the ever-present hollowness that pressed down on the _Ghost_ from outside.

Hera slid her hand into his. “Kanan? Are you alright?”

He gripped her hand reflexively. Wrenching his thoughts back to the present moment was like dragging a stubborn bantha from its trough.

Hera face was drawn with worried questions preparing themselves on the tip of her tongue.

No. Whatever was happening to him, he wouldn’t drag her into it.

Kanan cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yes. You’re right,” he spoke up. “It must have been something else, like…” His quick mind scrambled for an excuse and found it on the bench. “The construction,” he said, lifting up the datapad. _Polis Massa Security Bulletin_ beamed forth again, including a complaint about maintenance work. “It must have been going on while we were over there.”

Hera looked at the pad and then returned her watchful gaze. When his nonchalance didn’t falter, she tilted her head and asked, “You’re sure?”

He shrugged. “Hey. You didn’t hear anything weird, and I know I can always trust you.” A devilishly charming smile spread across his face. He prayed she wouldn’t see through it. Wouldn’t see through him.

She looked again at the datapad in his hand, but only for a second. Her shoulders didn’t relax like he had hoped. Instead she said, “If you hear that noise again, let me know. I’d like to check it out.”

Kanan leaned forward until their foreheads were almost touching. He squeezed her hand. “Anything you say, Captain.”

For a beat, Kanan was worried she’d press the issue, but a soft laugh rumbled in her throat, washing it away. With his free hand he brushed her face again and used the smooth movement to lead her mouth into another kiss. Hera set her hands on his knees and slid them slowly up his thighs. Kanan’s eyebrows crept up his forehead inch by inch with her advancing hands.

“ _Wop-wop-wop!_ _Hrr-grr-meep-wop!”_

Their hands dropped off eachother like autumn leaves. Kanan tilted his head back and squeezed shut his eyes. This was a very long day.

_“Gmm-mm.”_

There was a soft thud as Hera’s feet hit the floor, followed by a loud clang from the other room and a string of curses so colorful Kanan would have thought twice about using them even on his worst day. Both Kanan and Hera froze and exchanged wide-eyed looks before proceeding to the cabin door where Chopper was already waiting. The machine watched Kanan skeptically, but backed off as the clamor behind the door renewed.

Hera reached for the control, but Kanan set a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“Give him a minute,” he whispered and she nodded, sparing the door another wary glance.

Chopper made an indeterminate noise.

“Good idea, Chop,” Hera replied. “Go make sure it’s unlocked. We don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

With a last appraisal of Kanan and the closed door, Chopper made for the cockpit, turning a sharp corner to the control panel and nearly out of sight.

The shuffling and grousing from inside the cabin petered out bit by bit until the _Ghost_ fell conspicuously silent. Three minutes passed. Then five. Chopper opted to stay in the cockpit next to the open hatch to the cargo hold. Whether it was guarding the controls to the ship or just keeping its distance from the organics, Kanan couldn’t tell.

When ten minutes had passed, Hera gestured towards the door again. “Should we check?” she mouthed.

Kanan shrugged and leaned against the far door. “He’s probably asleep again,” he said.

“I don’t know. It’s pretty quiet in there. He’s not even snoring.”

“You think he’s hurt?”

“I think we should check,” she offered.

Kanan frowned a bit as he thought it over. Barging into a dark room with a hundred kilos of easily-angered Lasat required a better plan than just walking in. As he tapped his fingers on his crossed arms there was the sharp hiss of a door opening. But it wasn’t Zeb’s door.

With a short scream of surprise, Kanan fell backwards into the empty cabin. His elbows banged against old boxes and folded tarps, scattering a tray laid with tools across the floor. Hera was on him in a second, pulling him to his feet.

“C1-10P!” she barked down the hallway, all efforts to stay quiet forgotten.

Her voice was met with a low chortle as the droid pulled away from the control panel.

She growled in disgust and turned her attention back to Kanan, looking him over for injuries. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“For the love of kriffi-” he bit down on his words, remembering Zeb’s litany just a few minutes before. “Yeah. I think so,” he said and rubbed the back of his head, checking for wounds. He didn’t think he’d hit it on the way down, but it always paid to be sure. He ran his fingers through his hair several times, tangling the pony tail. His hand came away clean.

As he closed the fingers around his palm, Kanan’s glare pierced past Hera straight to Chopper. The little droid’s primary photoreceptors focused on him, defiance glaring in the blue lenses. But before Kanan could move to rip out its motivator, the other door slid into the wall.

A solid mass of purple muscle darkened the doorway. Behind his digitigrade legs was a large bucket, half dented and on its side. Thankfully, it was unused. Zeb’s eyes swept between Kanan and Hera in a slow arc. The lucidity behind them was worlds away from the dazed glares he’d given them before. He blinked slowly and stepped into the hallway.

“Right. Now, how do I get off this bucket of bolts?” he asked, head swinging left and right.

Hera’s lekku twitched at the insult, but her face betrayed nothing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked. “You had a rough night.”

Zeb raised a furry eyebrow at her, glancing once at Kanan. “You’re the ones who got me out of that cantina?” he asked.

Hera never broke eye contact with him, even though her head was tilted back. “Yes, we are,” she answered.

The goliath shrugged and chuckled once to himself. “Heh. Too bad for you. Now which way’s the door?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed Hera aside with a long arm and stepped towards the cockpit, making Chopper twitter furiously.

Hera wasn’t so easily deterred, though. She ducked under the Lasat’s arm and placed herself in his path. “Hold on,” she said. “We helped you back at the station.”

“That was your mistake, not mine. But I’ll tell you what, since you’ve been so nice, I won’t smash your ship on my way out. Deal?”

He tried to move forward again, but only got a step before she was blocking his path. Zeb pursed his long lips, making his goatee waver. He looked over Hera’s shoulder towards the open hatch.

“We helped you out after your friends left you behind. The least you could do is answer a few questions for us.”

The Lasat seemed to lean back. He glanced over his shoulder at Kanan who was busy calculating how quickly he could put himself between Zeb and Hera if it came to it.

“So that’s what this is about then?” he asked. “You want information?”

“Yes.” Hera’s strong voice drew all attention to her. “About your boss.”

Zeb shook his head quickly. “No way, lady. Now get out of my way.”

“You’re on Giza’s crew, right?” Kanan said.

Zeb’s ears pricked up at the name, just before his eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to get mixed up with Giza,” he said with a rough edge to his voice.

“So just tell us where to find him.”

“We have a proposition for him,” Hera chimed in.

Zeb snorted and then settled his bulbous eyes on Hera. “You don’t know the first thing about Giza, do you?”

“We’d like to change that if we can” she said. “But that all depends on if you’ll help us, like we helped you.”

He shook his head again. “Giza doesn’t do business with your kind.”

Kanan stepped up. He had heard the same words from him at the cantina. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Zeb’s eyes moved between the two of them as if he was waiting for Kanan to answer his own question. “Guerillas? Revolutionaries? Terrorists?”

Behind Zeb’s back, Hera’s lekku went stiff along with her body. Her eyes locked with Kanan’s. Did he know who they were? Had someone found out what they did on Gorse? What Hera’s been doing for years? And if they were onto her, were they onto Kanan, too.

Zeb continued. “You probably think I’m a shoo-in for your little terrorist cell. Poor Lasat! No planet! No people! All because of the big, mean Empire!” Hera’s lekku shifted at the dark sarcasm. Zeb made a disgusted noise, like he wanted to spit. “If that’s what you think, then you don’t know anything at all.” He pointed two long fingers at them, one in each direction. “I’m not helping Free Ryloth or any other suicidal death squad and that’s the end of it.”

Kanan and Hera’s eyes met for the second time. Free Ryloth. Not Gorse. Not the Jedi.

Hera blinked focus back into her eyes and squared her shoulders. “We’re not with Free Ryloth,” she said in a steady voice that made it clear this wasn’t the first time she’d had to say those words. “We’re… concerned citizens looking for likeminded individuals. And you can’t deny that the Empire-”

“Don’t think you can preach to me about the Empire,” he sneered in his broad-voweled accent. “Whatever it is you _think_ you’ve seen, I’ve seen worse.” His expression softened as he took in Hera, lekku hanging straight down her back. “Even on a planet like Ryloth,” he added.

Hera’s shoulders dropped a fraction, but she soon jutted out her chin. There was a fire burning inside of her, as hot as the razed cities of Ryloth, that not even the cynicism of the last Lasat could quell. But it could be silenced for a moment, because what he said was true. At least she still had a world. At least she still had a species.

Zeb heaved a sigh. For the second time, he jabbed clawed forefingers at Kanan and Hera’s chests. Looking them each in the eyes he said. “Stay away from me. And stay away from Giza.”

The unshakable force in his words was enough to uproot Hera’s feet, and she found herself stepping out of the way as he moved towards the hatch. Zeb kept eye contact with her as he moved past, only turning his head at the last minute. As he entered the cockpit, a venomous snarl and flash of long fangs sent Chopped back a full meter with a metallic squeal.

The crew of the _Ghost_ held still as they waited out the soft clank of the ladder and the whir of the cargo door lowering. The clang when it hit the docking bay floor ricocheted through the ship and into their bones. As the air returned to stillness, Hera dropped her head into her hand, shaking it slowly. When she looked up, the pain etched into her face was a manifesto.

Kanan had her in his arms in the space of a heartbeat. She wasn’t crying, but there was a tremble in her body that was slow to recede. He held her, rocking gently, until she spoke.

“This is what they want,” she said. “They want us so broken we don’t even want to fight back.”

Kanan pressed his cheek into her flight cap. “I know,” he said. And he did.


	7. Questioning (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Giza continues, but someone else finds Hera first.

Hera and Kanan were at the eighth custom broker’s office. With Zeb lost to the wind along with his companions from the cantina, all that was left was to knock on doors in the legal district, hoping someone knew something about Giza’s imminent arrival. But no one did.

Leaning over the shabby desk, Hera scrutinized the woman in front of her. The broker was a small human, round from over-eating and greasy from under-washing. Rumor had it she wasn’t the top choice for ships moving goods in and out of Polis Massa, but Hera’d hoped that would play to her favor. The unassuming woman might secretly be a smooth-handed criminal, expert at forging documents. Or at the very least the kind of pushover that dangerous company seemed to love: smart enough to get things done, but not smart enough to turn them in. As she studied Ms. Nebiwotz, Hera, who considered herself a good judge of character, suspected it was the later.

For her own part, Ms. Nebiwotz had done a reasonable job answering Hera’s questions about her past clients and services. It wasn’t until Hera had mentioned “hypothetically moving items around ‘invasive’ regulations” that she’d begun to sweat, and she had completely ignored the question when Hera’d asked if there was another client with a similar concern.

Presently, the human woman settled into fidgeting with her plump hands. Unable to hold Hera’s gaze, she continually glanced at the door as if she was either expecting someone to walk in at any moment or was hoping Hera and Kanan would leave through it sooner rather than later.

Hera tapped her finger softly on the desk once, twice, three times and Ms. Nebiwotz tried to force a smile, but fell short and she cleared her throat instead.

“So you see,” she said, her voice gravelly with tension, “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can help with your… hypothetical request. I’m not working on any contracts now, but i-if you’re not in need of services…” She stopped herself short, looking both expectant and nervous. “ _Are you_ looking to hire an agent? I mean, I-I could offer a competitive rate on other services, but my license is restricted to this side of the sector and doesn’t even come close to the mid-rim, much less the core worlds, and…”

Ms. Nebiwotz rambled on about her modest, but variable services and Hera let her speak. Off to the side of the dimly lit office, Kanan waited patiently, arms folded and eyes cast down. He glanced at the sweaty woman and shrugged once before shaking his head.

In place of a frown, Hera’s lekku shifted behind her shoulders. She leaned back into the threadbare chair, making it creak loudly. With a deep breath she forced out the next words for the eighth time that day.

“That won’t be necessary,” she muttered. “Thank you for your time. If anything changes, you can leave us a message with port authority at Waystation Dome.”

As they exited the tiny office, the rotund woman gave an audible sigh that ended in a whimper just as the door slid shut.

Kanan held open the next door leading out of the narrow receiving room and back into the hallway. The business complex was a compact labyrinth located on the lower levels, well below ground. Under the oppressive glare of white lights, it smelled of recycled air and something vaguely… “public fresher.” Of all the customs offices they’d visited, this one had been the grimiest, but that had been part of the reason Hera had chosen it in the first place; she’d hoped it would serve as an appealing venue for questionable ships and the brokers who represented them.

After a few turns, Hera asked, “What did you make of that?”

Kanan shrugged indifferently. “She’s up to something– or used to be; that’s for sure. But I don’t think it has anything to do with Giza. And I’m not sure he would hire her, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Hera sighed. “That’s what I thought, too.” After a beat she asked, “Do you think I was too hard on her?”

“Nah. I think getting questioned by you was probably good for her heart. That woman looks like she could use more excitement in her life, if you ask me.”

As he spoke, Kanan rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, like he was trying to itch at something on the inside. He’d been doing it all day and Hera guessed the telepathic headache was back. Her heart went out to him, wanting to help in some way, but he’d assured her he was fine, that it wasn’t nearly as bad as the first day, and that he was getting used to it. Hera hadn’t much liked any of those answers, but she had to admit he was steadier on his feet if nothing else. He’d been even better back on the _Ghost_ , but there, too, he hadn’t been his usual snarky, flirty self. There, like here, he was muted, everything half a beat behind, and often looking off in some direction like he was listening to a sound on the edge of hearing.

It had been a long day– a long _two_ days– and they were still no closer to finding Giza. Although she knew it was entirely possible that the mysterious dodger of all things Imperial would come and go without her ever meeting him, this was the first time she’d really accepted the possibility. And the thought left her feeling… disappointed. It wasn’t that she hadn’t failed to find contacts before. No– that had happened plenty of times. It was that this was Kanan’s first mission and she didn’t want his initial steps into this wider world to be a failure.

The next customs broker on Hera’s list was in the same subterranean complex, but down a different hallway. They found the office easily enough, but before she could activate the door, Kanan set his hand on top of hers.

“Why don’t you let me take this one?” he asked.

“You want to take the lead?”

He tilted his head to the side. “I thought I could take the whole thing. See if I can come up with some different answers. It’s the last one, right?”

A twinge of worry thrummed in her chest. “We’re supposed to be doing this together,” she said.

“We are. But sometimes working together means splitting up.” Kanan produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

She squinted at the scrawl, deciphering the text. Either Kanan had written it in a hurry or he had terrible penmanship. “An address?” she asked.

“Meet me here in one hour. But don’t go in without me.” The mischief in his smile was barely contained.

Hera’s eyebrow rose. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked waving the note.

Kanan shrugged, saying, “Guess you’ll find out in an hour,” and activated the door. A cramped anteroom much like the one they’d just left waited on the other side. At a small side desk, the secretary popped up his head.

The pang of worry returned. “Sure you’re up to this?” she asked. She longed to reach out for him, but knew it wouldn’t look professional or help his case with this last customs agent.

Kanan gave a short laugh. “I’ve seen you do it eight times in a row. I think I can handle it. And besides, I _am_ pretty good at getting people to talk to me.” He scratched his beard, obviously pleased with himself, and then gave her a wink before walking in, confidence in every step.

No sooner had the door slid home than Hera let out a long breath through puffed lips. She waited for a few minutes, shuffling from one foot to the other. Eventually the sound of laughter penetrated the door: Kanan making the secretary laugh. That was just like him, already building rapport with his quick wit and easy demeanor. He had a way of drawing people in, and a hidden quality that made you want to trust him.

 _Probably the Jedi in him_ , Hera thought as she navigated her way out of the warren of legal offices and back towards the main lift. As soon as she thought the words, though, her steps slowed and her lekku stiffened. Next to her, an egg-faced Kallidahin was stepping through a door and locking it behind him. He gave Hera a cursory glance before turning back the way she had come into the twisting hallways.

Hera had to remember she was in Polis Massa and the telepathic Kallidahins were everywhere. Not that she’d ever heard of one pulling the thoughts from another being’s mind, but you could never be too careful with a secret of this magnitude, especially when it wasn’t even yours.

After a few turns, the close-aired hallways melded into a main concourse. At the far end, the lift back to Topside Dome waited with its doors open. The car was almost full with a few beings filing in the last available spaces. Hera picked up her pace and trotted through the doors with ten seconds to spare. Flashing a polite smile, she slid past a pair of Arconas and settled into an empty space next to the wall. She gave a light sigh and shoved her hands in her pockets. Immediately, her fingers found the note from Kanan and a sly, knowing smile made its way across her lips.

A soft buzzer sounded the lift’s imminent departure and the crowd shuffled one last time to make room for a last-minute entrant. With another polite smile, Hera shifted deeper into the lift, watching her feet around the Arconas’ robes. When she found her place, she lifted her face again, prepared for a boring lift-ride up, but she was destined to be disappointed.

Right in front of her, deep blue eyes framed by cobalt skin widened and brightened. They darted back and forth between Hera’s green ones, weaving a knot into her stomach.

“Hera,” breathed Talik, and she extended her hands with the palms up in greeting. “ _Hera! Kei’nata tun._ ”

Before she could reply, Hera’s hands were pressed palm-to-palm between Talik’s, but whether she’d put them there herself or the other woman had caught them up, she could not remember. Her brain had been too busy making the switch from Basic to Ryl, the language of her home world she hadn’t spoken in almost three years.

Talik didn’t wait for a response. Her syllables trilled smoothly off her tongue, glittering like her midnight blue eyes. “It brings joy to my heart to meet you again. It has been a few years since I last saw you. What are you doing so far on the Outer Rim?”

Hera’s instincts itched for an out, but she was trapped in the lift and it would be a long while before it reached Topside Dome. She searched the faces around her, looking for even the slightest acquaintance she could call on for help. The other passengers glanced her way, but soon returned to their own thoughts and conversations, lending her no chance of an early escape.

Hera had no choice but to return her attention to Talik. Her mouth moved, then slowly, she formed the words in Ryl. “Talik, I- You’re… What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, actually.” She smiled. “It _was_ you I saw at the entry port yesterday, wasn’t it?”

Several lies popped into Hera’s head, but she didn’t see any use in deceiving Talik. At least not yet. Instead, she awkwardly returned her smile, stammering, “Um, yes. It was.”

“It looked like that human was in trouble. Was everything alright?” Talik’s fine, arched eyebrows lowered in concern.

Hera’s mind raced. It replayed the moment of Kanan’s sudden fall, picturing what Talik must have seen. Could she have told from that short scene that they were involved? Had Hera said or done anything that would have given them away? But that wasn’t the most important thing to worry about right now. The most important thing was avoiding Talik’s questions as much as possible– avoiding telling her anything at all.

Hera shrugged. “As well as it could be, I guess,” she said.

Talik seemed to like this answer and her lekku relaxed under her dark leather headband. As her eyes softened, she squeezed Hera’s hands between her own before finally releasing them. “It is truly good to see you again. In a galaxy so wide, it’s a tribute to the Goddess that we should meet here, at the very edge of space.” And she smiled again, a brilliant gleam that made Hera’s mouth twitch back.

A knot was forming in her stomach that she tried to hide by keeping her lekku loose and casual. But according to the Lasat, Zeb, members of Free Ryloth had tried to recruit him in the past few days. And Hera didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance on Kessel it could have been anyone but Talik. She needed to know more and that meant keeping the conversation going. “Yes. It really is a surprise,” she agreed tactfully. “So, what brings you to Polis Massa?”

She shrugged lightly with one shoulder under her leather jacket. “A resource gathering mission,” she said. “Picking up a few things we need. Looking for a few things extra.”

“What could you need all the way out here?”

“Maybe something similar to what you need?” She raised an eyebrow.

Unsure of what lie or evasive comment to use next, she decided to laugh. “And what do you think I need?” she asked.

“I’m not sure yet, but some security officers visited us this afternoon. They said a Twi’lek woman was harassing agents in the legal district and thought she as with us. I came to investigate, thinking it might be you.”

Hera’s lips formed a circle. “Oh,” was all she replied. She thought back on Ms. Nebiwotz. The poor woman had sweat like a fountain under Hera’s questioning and she hadn’t been the only one. It looked like there were plenty of others who had found Hera’s visit less than enjoyable. But there was something else in Talik’s statement, too. If Polis Massa security came straight to her, it meant that the group of Twi’leks were already on their radar. Hera wondered what else they had been getting up to before the _Ghost_ landed on this far-flung asteroid.

“So, what is it that you’re doing here?” Talik’s voice was calm, but there was sharpness in it that couldn’t be hidden.

“I’m, really not at liberty to say,” she evaded.

Talik craned her head to look into more directly into Hera’s face. “Are you having trouble finding an agent? If so, I can recommend one who’s more open-minded than a lot of the _lylek_ around here.”

Hera couldn’t help but wince at the word. _Lylek_ were vicious insects that lurked in the caves of Ryloth. When food was scare or their numbers too many, they turned to cannibalism to better their own chances of survival. Comparing a sentient being with one was no small insult and the easy way it had rolled off of Talik’s tongue made the worry in Hera’s stomach tighten.

“No, no problem,” she said as she consciously loosened her shoulders. “We’re not moving cargo on this trip anyway.”

One lek twitched in curiosity. “ _We?_ ” she repeated.

The knot tightened again and Hera pushed down the feeling. “My droid and I,” she lied. “Do you remember Chopper, my C1 unit?”

Eyes tightening thoughtfully, Talik looked to the side as she searched her memory. The angle of her head gave Hera a clear view of the tattoos on her lekku. Black spirals like a purgill’s tentacles were marked at intervals by clusters of tiny circles. The pattern ran from base to tip. It was an unusual marking, and Hera couldn’t place the clan it belonged to.

After a few seconds, Talik’s head snapped back up. “You mean that little orange thing everyone hated?” Her expression turned to disbelief. “You mean it’s still functional?”

Finally, Hera’s smile was almost genuine. “Better than when I found him, at least.”

“What _are_ you flying these days? As I recall, you’re quite an impressive pilot.”

“A cargo ship,” she said. “It’s up in orbit now. We took the shuttle in.”

“You and your droid?”

“That’s right. I mean, we came down to the station together. Everyone else is back on the ship.”

Talik studied Hera for a moment, her eyes searching and thoughtful. “The Hera Syndulla I remember never would have settled for flying something as clunky as a freighter,” she said. Hera’s heart crawled up into her throat waiting to be caught out in her lies. “Tell me the truth, Hera,” she said. “You’re down here looking for work, aren’t you?”

The relief flooded into Hera’s fingertips as she answered, “No. Not, exactly.”

“Are you under a contract?

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“So you _are_ looking for work?”

“Maybe, but that’s not-”

“What is it, then?”

“I’m searching for someone,” she bit, and immediately chastised herself for speaking so quickly. Even this was more information that she wanted to give away.

“Really?” Talik hummed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I wonder if I might know who it is you’re looking for. Care to tell me the name?”

Hera’s nerves stood on end. The tendons connecting her bone to muscle, the sharp lashes that rimmed her eyes, the memory cells in the tips of her lekku… Every part of her screamed with the need to get away from Talik. Hera finally saw this conversation for what it was: the beginnings of an interrogation. And Hera had walked right into it by allowing Talik to talk to her instead of rushing off of the lift, moving to the other side, or simply refusing to talk to participate in a conversation. It would have been rude and might even have ended with an altercation, but it would have been better than this.

But at the same time, Talik had answers that Hera was curious about as well. She, or someone with her, had tried to recruit Zeb, and she wanted to know why. Was Free Ryloth searching the far corners of the galaxy for new recruits, or where they trying to get closer to Giza, like she was? The real question was: could she find out Talik’s answers without giving up any more of her own?

With a weak smile and awkward shuffle, Hera said, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it. And, in fact, I just found out everything I needed a few minutes ago.” She nodded back towards the closed lift door and the legal district of Polis Massa now far below. “I actually think I’m just about done on Polis Massa for now.”

At that moment, the lift began to slow. As Talik watched Hera’s face, the younger woman watched the lights outside the lift. They had passed some unseen line and the whoosh of the level-markers slowed to a gradual stop. The last light drug across the narrow windows as the lift slid into place at the final stop. The innocuous buzzer announced the opening of the doors. No one spared the two women a second glance as they moved around to file out.

Hera’s eyes lingered on the open door, thirsting for freedom, but Talik stood between her and the exit.

“Well…” Hera cleared her throat. “This is my stop. If you’ll excuse me…” But before she could step all the way around, Talik’s hand was on her shoulder.

“Your father misses you,” she whispered only loud enough for her to hear, although there was no one else around. All of the passengers had exited and the waiting area was empty for the moment. “He is always searching for you,” she continued. “Asking after your name, your ship.” A pang of guilt sounded through Hera as Talik shared a gentle, knowing smile. “I know you fly a light freighter, not a cargo ship,” she said.

A hundred things to say swirled through Hera’s mind, most of them angry– at herself, at Talik. Despite her efforts, the tips of her lekku curled as she bit her lip. Finally she settled on the one thing she needed to know more than anything else. 

“Have you told my father where I am?” she asked.

“No,” came the soft answer. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

She nodded once but said nothing. Talik squeezed, her hand still resting on Hera’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what happened to make you leave, Hera, but I do know that Free Ryloth still needs you. We need your skills and your leadership. We could probably even use that little droid of yours.” She gave a humorless laugh. “The galaxy is a big place, filled with suffering and pain. It’s too much for one woman to take on, even one as brave as you. But on Ryloth, standing together, we have a chance for freedom, not in some distant future, but now.”

Hera’s voice was pained and pinched as she fought for control. “And stand by while the rest of the galaxy burns? That’s not justice.”

Talik sighed. “It never was.”

A silence passed between them as Hera kept her eyes on the silver floor of the lift while Talik’s sorrow-filled expression bore into the side of her face. With a slow breath, Talik was the first to speak again.

“All I am asking is that you think about where you can do the most good, Hera. Think about who you can help the most _now_.”

Her words drifted in the air, heavy and circling, until they were broken by the arrival of the first passengers: a trio of Kallidahins gliding into the lift, gesturing to eachother in graceful movements as they chatted mind-to-mind. No sooner had they entered than an Ugnaught filed in, followed shortly by a Weekquay.

Talik gripped Hera’s shoulder one more time before her fingers slipped away. As she departed, Hera heard her murmur a soft farewell. “ _Vatak’ultuka_ ,” she said. Fight on tomorrow.

Hera rubbed at her forehead with the back of her hand and straightened her shoulders with some effort. Feet slow, she wandered out of the lift to a curved bench that was part of the wall. A quick look around revealed that Talik had gone and more beings were arriving to take the lift down to the business complex. But Hera wasn’t thinking about them. She wasn’t even thinking about Talik, or Ryloth, or Giza. She was thinking about a large, purple Lasat called Zeb. _“Whatever it is you think you’ve seen, I’ve seen worse,”_ he’d told her. _“Even on a planet like Ryloth.”_

Hera pinched her eyes closed as she sunk down into the alcove. It seemed to collect sound and she was doused in the chatter of gathering lift-riders.

Could what happened on Lasan happen on Ryloth? Was Talik right? Could she make more of a difference focusing on one world than focusing on a thousand? Could she be the difference that stopped a tragedy like Lasan from befalling her own home one day?

No matter how many deep breathes she forced into her lungs or times she uncurled her lekku, Hera’s mind returned to Zeb, Lasan, and the Imperial report of occupation, war, and genocide. _Look what happened to his people_ , her voice whispered. _Don’t let that happen to ours._

Mind cluttered and heart heavy, Hera waited until all of the voices faded into the background. Eventually, the lift departed leaving Hera in abrupt silence. Her head shook of its own volition, but she couldn’t find the words to explain what it was she was saying ‘no’ to.

After some time the lift returned. Its wide double-doors swished open followed by a soft chatter and the patter of exiting feet. One pair hit the floor heavier than the others and Hera lifted her head at their familiar sound.

Kanan half-pushed, half-dodged his way through the crowd amid a shower of _excuse me_ ’s and _hey_ ’s, gaining him a particularly sour look from a tall Ithorian woman. He spotted Hera quickly and she made room for him on the bench, keeping the same posture she’d held for the last twenty minutes: arms crossed on her knees, head down, lekku limp.

“Hera,” he said as he slid next to her. His thigh was warm on hers. Familiar. Free from judgement. She leaned her head onto his shoulder and he cradled her head. She didn’t cry. There was nothing to cry for that hadn’t already been bled for. Ryloth, family, freedom, guilt, shame, purpose, misplaced hope... real hope. Real something. Real anything. Real–

She lifted her head and looked at Kanan. His heavy brows were pulled together in worry.  After a second he said, “You don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not now. Maybe later.”

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, feeling her lekku bounce against her shoulders.

He nodded once in return and looked straight into her eyes. She returned the gaze, freely showing him every conflicting emotion that swirled inside her, the way she fought them and how much she didn’t want to do even that.

“You still have that piece of paper I gave you?” he asked, interrupting her trance.

Without taking her eyes away from his, she pulled it from her pocket and held it up, a white diamond in her gloved fingers.

He glanced at it once. “Do you want to go?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You sure?”

In answer, Hera fisted Kanan’s shirt and pulled him to his feet after her as she marched away.


	8. Questioning (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heading off to Kanan's "surprise," Hera battles difficult thoughts while Kanan's condition worsens.

The door was not what Hera expected. A bland metal rectangle with a lighted frame, it was unremarkable and exactly like fifty other doors scattered throughout Polis Massa, two of which she could see from where they were standing. The only mark of individuality was a polished, bronze address plate set with colored tiles that formed the numbers _4-9-5_.

Kanan rubbed his face on his shoulder and blinked twice like he was trying to clear a film from his eyes. The familiar worry bubbled up in Hera, but she put it away just as quickly. He’d told her he was fine, and she was choosing to believe him. Besides, she was busy enough fighting off the worried thoughts Talik had left her with. She saw no point in adding needless worries about Kanan.

“Are you sure this is the place?” she asked, comparing the scrawled note in her hand to the turquoise and rose mosaic numbers.

“Yeah,” he answered. And although his smile was a second too slow, his eyes beamed with genuine warmth. In fact, they gleamed with expectation.

Trying to hide the smile creeping its way onto the corner of her mouth, Hera activated the door and stepped into the narrowest receiving room this side of Alderaan. Immediately to the left of the door was a high counter while another door stood closed not one meter from the first. Kanan crowded in behind her and the door hushed shut. They were practically standing on top of one another in the miniscule space.

Kanan cleared his throat.

Over the counter appeared a squat, reptilian face of bland, beige scales. The creature licked its lips with a black tongue and blinked slowly at the pair below, saying nothing.

“Hi there.” Kanan’s smile oozed through his voice. “We have the 1800 reservation?”

Small, vertically slit eyes looked from him to Hera. The creature made a gurgling noise.

“Oh, right!” Kanan dug around in his pockets, almost elbowing Hera in the stomach, before he produced a stack of credits. They were on top of the counter too quickly for her to see how many there were, but it wasn’t a small amount.

With the unmistakable clatter of money in palms, the creature disappeared behind the counter and reappeared a moment later. Its long, slender fingers dropped a key card into Kanan’s waiting hands while it snort-whistled something else.

“Thanks. You, too,” Kanan replied and with a short buzz, the second door finally slid open.

Hera couldn’t get out of the tiny space fast enough. She nearly tripped on Kanan’s heels as he led them down a corridor so narrow that she almost had to sidle through it, and Kanan actually did. They passed several doors, each marked with the same bronze plate as the outside. Instead of numbers, these ones bore names like _Dream, Whisper,_ and _Lagoon_. At the end of the hall they stopped at a door marked _Sunrise_.

Hera’s eyes narrowed at the word as Kanan pressed the key to the lock. They’d barely crossed the threshold when the lights flickered off, momentarily plunging the room into darkness. There was a faint rumble in the floor and the tinkling of glass. Then, with a harsh grumble, Kanan pounded the flat side of his fist next to a control on the wall. The lights blinked to life again and Hera’s feet slowed to a stop.

It was a small room, although it was easily four times wider than the cabins on the _Ghost_. The walls were light panels, slowly shimmering purple-black at the floor and blending through vermillion to a warm golden yellow at the top of the domed ceiling. The colors moved slowly, as if seen through water. The carpet sprung up under her feet, a rich blackish mauve that matched the edges of the artificial twilight. With every step, the aroma of cool dewdrops drifted into the air.

The furnishings were simple. The wall to the left was set with two plush chairs on either side of a long table. A dozen gleaming bottles sat on its mirrored top, creating a rainbow in the warm light. Exactly opposite sat the real reason this room existed. And Hera had to admit the sight of it made her muscles melt.

A bed.

Kanan was already at one of the chairs unfastening his holster and detaching the clunkier items from his belt. He snuck a glance at Hera, a pleased smile brightening his face.

“You found a place with a real bed,” Hera said. Her hands were already running over the comforter, pale gold and shimmering. She unfastened her gloves and ran her palms and fingertips over it again, taking in the silky, cool fabric.

“Well,” he said, his back to her as he spoke, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t even remember the last time I slept on something with sheets.” As Hera watched, he pulled the shirt over his head and draped it over the back of the chair. The rosy light of the sunrise caught in his skin’s warm hues, somehow augmenting the freckles that clung there like a smattering of stars. And suddenly there was something Hera wanted to touch more than the bed linens.

Kanan didn’t make a sound as she smoothed her palms over his skin and up his shoulders. She pulled out his hair tie and, slipping it onto her own wrist, teased his hair into the loose locks she loved so much. Kanan leaned his head back into her hand, now working on the clasp of his belt. With every piece of clothing that he laid on the chair, the further the vying voices in Hera’s mind receded to the back. She knew she couldn’t banish them for too long, but right now, in this room like the heart of a newborn day, Hera had no intention of heeding their echoes.

In another moment, Kanan was down to his boxers. Hera’s hands slid around his arms and chest as he turned to face her. But instead of going for the clasps of her jumpsuit, like he usually did, he took her face between his hands. The tilt of his eyebrows and the tightness under his eyes told a story of unspoken concern. But he would wait until she was ready to share her worries with him and wouldn’t force them. And that patience and respect was unbearably romantic.

Hera let her eyes graze over his face, committing it to memory for the hundredth time. She turned her head to kiss the hand on her cheek and ended up pressing her tongue into it as well.

 

* * * Please skip to the next marker if you prefer to keep things to your imagination* * *

 

The boyish grin snuck back onto Kanan’s face. Hera gave a quick nod and with much gasping and a little bit of tripping, Hera’s clothes made it onto (or near enough to) the same chair that held Kanan’s. As she sat on the edge of the bed, she shimmied out of her bra and Kanan stepped out of his boxers. At the sight of his excitement, Hera’s pulse doubled. She scooted back over the silky covers, heart racing.

“Not this time,” Kanan interrupted and Hera’s eyebrows quirked. “I have something else in mind.”

Slowly, suspiciously, she returned to the edge of the bed, the gold coverlet cool beneath her skin.

Kanan got onto his knees and trailed his fingers up her thighs to the edge of her underwear. He skirted them along the top edge, making her shudder.

“Yesterday, you did something just for me. Now I want to do something just for you,” he said, and coaxed her legs apart with a brush of his hands.

Hera gave him a look, stopping short of rolling her eyes. “It wasn’t _just_ for you,” she said, remembering their time in the cockpit. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t enjoy it.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said, his breath grazing her legs. Hera smiled, but it soon wilted from her face. She propped up onto her elbows.

“Kanan,” she said, serious. “I don’t want you to do anything because you’re keeping some kind of score between us. You shouldn’t do anything if you’re- _ah!”_ Hera gasped as his tongue made contact. He hadn’t even taken off her underwear, just pushed them aside.

“Uh huh?” Kanan feigned listening and kissed her leg. She gave him a smug look that he didn’t see before resuming her point.

“I mean, I don’t want you to do this because you think you _owe me_.”

He didn’t look up, but lightly caressed her again, making Hera draw in a sharp breath she let it out in a pant.

“I don’t think that,” he said softly.

“No?”

He shook his head, kissed her leg again, and hooked his thumbs under the sides of her underwear.

“No,” he answered, his voice low.

Hera couldn’t find the breath to say anything more because he had tossed her last garment behind him and her body thrilled with energy. Kanan’s smile then disappeared behind her curves.

At first the feelings swelling though her were much like those of their previous times, but soon they rapidly changed to something else. Hera’s entire body twitched in response to the movements of Kanan’s tongue, making her tense and sweat.

How was he doing this do this to her? She reached out, but she didn’t know what for. Sensing her movement, Kanan readjusted and pulled her closer. His tongue moved with a wet heat she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to and when his tongue drifted to her bottom edge, Hera’s strength fled like a ghost at dawn. She fell back on the silky bed, gasping. But she was stubborn. She summoned the strength to crane up her neck. Whatever he was doing to make her feel this way she wanted to see it.

Kanan’s eyes were closed, licking, sucking, and nibbling at her. His tongue flattened out and caressed her in a long, searing grind that ended with a flick across the nub at the top. Hera jerked reflexively again and a smile flashed across his lips. His beard scraped the inside of her thigh and he put the most sensitive part of her body between his lips. Kanan pulled gently, drawing on her and moving her with the tip of his tongue at the same time.

A feeling was building in Hera that she could only identify as desperation. Why was it that when he focused on that one spot it made her whole body crave to have him inside of her? She threw her head back. Her lekku sprawled out behind her, tips curling. When he finally broke off, she took a much-needed breath, thankful to have a second to recover. But that second was short-lived as Kanan’s mouth was back on her and this time it was joined by a single finger. He pushed it inside, twisted it around her tightened muscles, and curled it upwards.

“ _Kanan!_ ” she shouted. Her voice sounded close to a reprimand– which he ignored, as usual.

He pulled the finger out, only to tickle the tender flesh near the entrance and push it back in. He curled his finger again and this time he hit something. Hera arched her back. She was panting. Breath was far away. She grasped for it futilely as her hands reached out and took hold of nothing.

What was he doing? Whatever he had found, he wasn’t giving it up. He massaged the spot gently, but forcefully while his tongue lapped at her from the outside.

The rush of intensity blindsided Hera. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Arduously, she pushed to her elbows. She had to see it. How the hell was he making her feel this way?

There wasn’t much to see with Kanan’s face buried between her legs. The sight of his tan skin next to her green, and the occasional pink flash of his tongue made her bite her lip. He opened his eyes for a moment. Had they always been this bright?

Kanan trailed his mouth up the inside of thigh and pulled out his finger. Hera took in a lungful of air like she’d forgotten what it tasted like, and there was a moment when she thought he would switch techniques, but he took a firmer hold on her leg instead. With a sinful tilt to his smile he massaged her wet flesh and pushed in two fingers this time.

Everything that happened next was lost in blinding, jumbled fog, like traveling through hyperspace without a ship. Jump after jump, colors and streaks of starlines whirled past Hera in unrelenting succession. She was only sure of a few things through it all. She knew that she was clutching onto the golden bedspread because she couldn’t reach Kanan’s shoulders. She knew that her hips were pushing into his fingers. And she knew that she was much louder than usual.

Hera’s voice crescendoed from moans punctured by gasps to full voiced cries. Kanan had somehow pushed her across a line that she hadn’t even known existed, into a maddening pleasure she’d never imagined. Her mind whirled in the vortex, torture or pleasure, the line was blurred beyond recognition.

What was this feeling? What was he _doing_ to her?

He twisted his wrist slightly and a new wave of intensity electrified Hera to the bones. Sound disappeared. Light, air, the bedroom, the bed– even Kanan faded into the distance. She didn’t know how long she could endure it, but she didn’t want it to stop. She _never_ wanted it to stop. But it was pulling her into atoms.

The next lucid memory Hera had was of grasping Kanan’s bare shoulder. Somehow she had managed to reach it. His rhythm slowed to a tender push and pull and then, very carefully, he disengaged.

 

*  *  *

 

Hera slumped back onto the bed. She wasn’t just jelly; she was stardust. Face half-pressed to the silky bedspread, she struggled to push herself fully onto her back. When she finally succeeded she landed on her left lek, moaned in discontent, and readjusted. Finally comfortable, she shut her eyes while the hormones and adrenaline seared her veins.

Kanan’s weight crept up next to her and settled in. It wasn’t long before he was trailing his fingers along her naked skin. Hera shuttered at the light touch up her ribs to her collarbone and along her arm. When he came to her hand he lifted it to his mouth.

“I like my new nick-name,” he said kissing the inside of her wrist.

Hera opened her eyes a sliver. “What are you talking about?”

Kanan’s blue-green eyes flashed up from her green skin. “ _Please-Kanan-Don’t-Stop,_ ” he grinned.

Hera knew that she should have shoved him, but mostly she was just confused. “Did I say that?” she asked.

Kanan opened her hand. “Over and over,” he said and pressed a sensuous kiss into her palm.

A residual wave of intensity quivered through Hera’s body. She didn’t remember saying much in the way of coherent words. While Kanan continued to caress her hand, she opened her mouth to speak, hesitated and then sallied forth. “What was that?”

“What was what?” he pulled his lips along her thumb.

She pressed her own lips together. “That… _thing_ you found,” and then clarified, “Inside me.”

Kanan was onto her fingers now. He kissed each fingertip in turn. “A nerve center. A lot of humanoid females have one,” he said.

“Oh.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but was sure she failed. It wasn’t that she was jealous of Kanan’s past romantic encounters; they were his business, just like hers were hers– for all they amounted to.  But the unbalance between them sometimes crept its way into her mind and pulled at a thread of insecurity, like now.

Hera’s lekku squirmed minutely as Kanan continued his unhurried exploration of her hand. His breath was warm between her fingers.

“Did you already know that… I had one?” she asked.

Kanan finished the kiss he was working into her palm before answering.

“I had a pretty freewheeling life before we met.” He played with her wrist while his eyes studied the curve of her hips. “I’ve been with a Twi’lek before, if that’s what you’re asking. It was…” He shrugged and shifted as if to look away, then met her eyes instead. “It was nothing like this.”

Her lips twitched into a smile and Hera intertwined her fingers with his before pressing the back of her hand into his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, love,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Kanan let out a deep breath and looked at the illuminated wall as if he could see through it to the stars beyond. “You should at least know that I was always responsible,” he said. “I’d never put you, or me– or any of them– in danger.”

Hera studied the deep line that had appeared between his eyebrows.

“Do you miss your old life?” she asked.

“No. Not that part of it at least,” he said. “They sure weren’t my finer years.”

“Did you…” How did she want to say this? “Did you get hurt?”

He let out a short, humorless cough, nothing like a laugh. “More like I did the hurting,” he said and the lines in his face deepened, their shadows augmented by the scarlet of the sunrise shimmering unhurriedly around them.

The worry pulled at the thread again, but Hera ignored it, choosing another path. She put a languid smile on her face and said, “Sure you don’t just have too high an opinion of yourself?”

Kanan raised an eyebrow and looked at her, his loose locks brushing against his face.

Hera shrugged as best she could, naked on the bed. “As if every woman who’d been with Kanan Jarrus would end up brokenhearted the moment it ended.”

Kanan gave a short laugh, a real one this time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He pulled their intertwined hands close to his face, this time to rub at his temple. “But, I know I left a few of them worse than I found them.”

She gave a curious frown. “How?”

Kanan half-shrugged and looked through the wall again. “They changed their lives for me, thinking I’d stay. But then… I didn’t.”

“Did you tell them you would?” Did she want to know the answer to this? She didn’t know.

“I knew I couldn’t… or wouldn’t.” He was still rubbing his face the back of his hand, seemed to notice and pulled it away. “I was a stupid kid,” he said, voice dark. “We were all stupid kids.”

“Good thing you’re all grown up now.”

Hera expected him to chuckle or say something self-deprecating, but instead a flash of anxiety pinched his face. Immediately he tried to cover it up with a smile, but it was briefer than lightning, and his eyes were soon looking through the wall again.

The play of emotions on Kanan’s face was complex and quick, deepened by the light shifting from red to amber. Sadness was there, and something like regret. But doubt was thickest by far. It sat in a dozen layers laid one on top of another like blankets spread out over a piece of old furniture. The struggle buried under them was as inscrutable as the false sunrise shimmering in the air. Whatever it was that Kanan was facing, he didn’t have the answer. He didn’t even know the question. And it scared him.

Hera had been avoiding thinking about it, but now, as they lay naked together once again, she couldn’t ignore the facts any more. These past months on the  _Ghost_  were the longest Kanan had ever stayed in the same place since before the Purge; he’d told her as much. But more than that, the past month they’d been sleeping together was the longest he’d ever stayed with the same partner.

The worried voice that Hera had successfully put away for the past half-hour now prodded in her mind again. _Because he’s a drifter,_ it said. _Because he leaves. Because he always leaves._

Like an old wound, Hera felt the familiar ache that came with the idea that one day Kanan might disappear– that he might _choose_ to disappear, again (again, again–) like he’d done for ten years. She didn’t want to face the reality that one day she could wake up to cleared-out drawer, a cold bunk, and even colder memories.

 _They changed their lives for me, thinking I’d stay. But then, I didn’t…_ The voice was back, using Kanan’s words. _We were all stupid kids…_

What made her think she was different from any of those women? Just because he’d stayed with her the longest? Just because she’d somehow gotten him to confess to her the deadliest secret in the galaxy?

No, it hadn’t been Hera who’d convinced him to say anything. Kanan had told her about his past all on his own that snowy day at the space port.

_And then he left without expecting anything else. Without expecting to come back._

But he did come back. Why?

The voice again. _I want this to work…_

He’ said that to her only yesterday. He’d meant it then, she was sure. Did he mean it now? Would be mean it tomorrow? Would he mean it when the Empire drew closer and the only place left to run was away from her?

Studying his brooding face, Hera knew that he was different than he was before. She’d seen him change with her own eyes as the hedonistic roustabout chipped away to reveal the more noble shape buried underneath. But those thick layers of doubt that covered him were a testament to how hard he’d worked to suppress that part of himself, intending to bury it forever. The truth was that Kanan Jarrus wasn’t a Jedi and he never would be. As much as she knew it was true, she somehow couldn’t bring herself to believe it.

Kanan sighed deeply and rubbed at his forehead again. He ran his fingers through his hair and their colors danced like dark shadows in the light of the sunrise.

No matter what his past was, or his future, one thing was true: that Kanan was here with her now, lying by her side. Today, he was choosing her and there was no way to know what he would choose tomorrow.

Hera didn’t know what tomorrow held, but she knew she’d face it head-on, whatever came. She’d make the future a better one, somehow. Maybe. If she continued to try and if the stars were kind.

Mind and heart heavy with circles of thought, Hera pushed herself to her elbows. With a soft hand, she pulled Kanan’s face to hers and pressed their foreheads together. His mask was back in place: placid, warm, and completely unaware of the long, painful wanderings that had just passed through her heart. They kissed. It was a sad caress, and fleeting. When it was over, Kanan released Hera’s hand and stood up.

Even with the melancholy thick in the air, it was hard not to look as him as he stepped back to where the table and chairs were lined up against the wall. Long expanses of tan skin, a spattering of freckles and a few pale scars caressed Hera’s eyes. The shape of him with his back to her was a work of art as the light continued to play on his body. The swell of his calves was lost in the dark tones of blue-purple while his shoulders caught in shifting shadows between rose and gold.

Right now, he was here with her. Right now, she would enjoy this moment.

Ready for a distraction, Hera lifted her hand and watched the play of dawn on her olive-green skin. The higher flashes made her fingertips white, while the rest of her remained in a dusty hue. On her wrist, Kanan’s hair tie cut a black line across the soft folds of light. She let her eyes rest on it for a long time, trying not to think too deeply of meanings that may or may not there.

She breathed in a long, full breath to push the thoughts from her mind and stretched her arms along the silk to where the fabric was still cool. The mattress made no sound. It was firm with a healthy layer of “give.” With her limbs at their max, she pushed to the tips of her fingers, toes, and lekku until they quivered. How long had it been since she could stretch out on a bed? A year? Maybe more? Her body sank into the foam as it curved to her shape.

The clinking of glass and crystal drew her attention as Kanan lifted one of the bottles lined up on the table. He half turned to her, gently waving a fluted bottle of thick, syrup-colored liquid. From its gilded cork hung Hera’s black underwear. The edge of the waistband had caught perfectly on the spiraled topper.

She gave a laugh and smiled. Kanan returned it, but only briefly; the mirth fell away from his face the moment he looked away. He extricated the undergarment from the liqueur and tossed it onto the chair. The glasses rung out different notes as he slipped the bottle back in among the others and idly pulled out several others, checking the labels before putting them back. Only a few turned out to be alcohols while the others were an assortment of beauty tonics, not all of which were consumable by every species.

At last, Kanan pulled out a triangular carafe filled with something green and lumpy. He shook his head before showing it to her. “In the mood for some Nal Huttan Rock Jelly?”

Hera made a face and forced her voice to sound lighter than she felt. “So this room really _is_ just for the bed.”

Kanan gave a dry laugh as Hera rolled onto her stomach, casting knowing eyes in his direction. The movement and its meaning didn’t escape Kanan’s attention, and the corner of his mouth rose alongside an inquisitive eyebrow. He put down the next flask without checking the contents.

While Kanan slowly advanced, Hera inched back on the soft mattress, making room for him to join her. He climbed on, hands sinking into the soft foam. The sweet scent of dewdrops followed him and Hera breathed them in eagerly.

Her voice was becoming breathy again as he drew closer, piercing her with bright eyes shadowed behind dark locks of hair. “How long did you say we have this room for?” she asked.

“All night,” he whispered close to her cheek. The return of his warm breath made her lekku tingle.

Hera rolled onto her back and pulled him on top of her. His familiar weight and the heat of his skin promised joy and peace and excitement. Their bodies had only begun to intertwine when the comm started to go off.

_Ch-ch-chirrup! Ch-ch-chirrup!_

Kanan pressed his lips to her ear-cone, making her purr. “Ignore it,” he whispered in a voice roughened by desire. Hera responded by rolling her hips into his. He made a wonderful sound and started to work on her neck.

_Ch-ch-chirrup! Ch-ch-chirrup!_

Her left lek flicked as her concentration frayed at the sound.

_Ch-ch-chirrup!_

Inexorably, her hands drifted away from Kanan’s skin as she turned her eyes towards the muffled sound under the piles of clothing.

“Hera?” Kanan’s voice was half a plea and half a warning. “Let it go.”

_Ch-ch-chirrup!_

She could barely look away. “He wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important,” she said.

Kanan scoffed, but then tried to smooth it over with a quick smile when she scowled. “Whatever it is, Chopper can handle it.”

But as the comm link twittered again, Hera’s frowned deepened. Kanan couldn’t see it, though, because at that moment, the lights cut out for the second time. The room hummed with a low mechanical noise preceding three loud clicks from the electricity trying to restart itself. It failed, and soft, blue emergency lighting bloomed to life around the nearest exit: the door.

With a defeated sigh, Kanan dropped his head onto the mattress. “I paid money for this?” he grunted at the empty, lightless walls.

Hera was already on her feet, her eyes unhindered by the sudden darkness. After a little fishing, the chirping comm was in her hand.

“Chop?” she asked.

Her voice was immediately overrun with the roar of binary fury. _“Hrr-grr-wop! Err!!! Meep-wop-brrrrrr!”_

“Calm down!” she yelled back. “I’m here now. What’s going on?”

Another long trail of mechanical noises poured through the tiny speaker. With another disgusted noise, Kanan slipped off the edge of the bed. His eyes were filled with questions and his mouth was pulled to the side in keen annoyance.

“He says…” Chopper’s voice fought with Hera’s until she held the comm away from their faces and spoke over him. “He says there was an accident in the hanger bay. Some kind of… explosion?”

_“Ggg-bbrrrr!”_

Hera raised the device again. “What was that?”

_“Mmm-grr-g-g-g.”_

Kanan leaned forward, trying to decipher the whirrs of colorful binary as Hera’s narrow brows pulled together and her mouth twisted.

“What is it?” Kanan asked.

“It’s Polis Massa security,” she said. “They’re requesting all visitors return to their ships for immediate inspection.”

A long, hard look passed between them.

“Are you hiding anything?” asked Kanan.

“Are you?” she replied.

His brows quirked downward and she could practically see the dismantled lightsaber reflected in his eyes. After a beat, he said, “We should go.”

In an instant, they were back at the chair tossing each other clothes and jerking on pants with sobering speed. The comm beeped again even before Hera had latched her vest.

“We’re on our way,” she said into the microphone and cut the feed before Chopper could begin another rant. She swept her eyes around the room, scanning for anything they might have dropped or forgotten. They stopped on Kanan. He was standing at the far end of the room, staring at the blank wall. Even with his back turned, she could tell he was listening. Something about the cautious way he moved made the undersides of her lekku itch.

“Kanan?” she asked. Her voice suddenly sounded fragile in the emergency-bathed darkness.

His fingers curled back from the wall before he could touch it.

“Don’t you hear it?” he asked.

“Hear what?”

“The marching,” he said.

With careful footsteps through the plush carpet, Hera slunk to his side and slipped her fingers around his arm. She strained and listened, but there was only the hum of the emergency lighting behind them. “I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.

“But it’s…” He reached out and set his hand on the curved surface of the light-panel that made up the wall. Then, his head snapped around, like a new noise had caught his attention.

Kanan’s eyes looked past Hera to the door. They grew round and wide. The color drained from his face like it was pulling in the pale, blue light. Under her hand, Hera could feel Kanan’s skin shrink into his bones.


	9. Dead Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Hera is taken away for questioning by the Polis Massa security, Kanan searches for a way to survive the strengthening hallucinations.

_“Please! Don’t kill me!”_

A slight figure came into focus, pressing her hands to her hip. The side of her umber skirt was soaked black with blood. Although her face was hidden beneath a deep hood, her yellowed hands showed a smattering of diamond-shaped tattoos. The young Mirialan hissed through sobs of pain before slipping through the door like nothing more than a hologram.

Kanan’s eyes were locked. The door stood closed, dark and narrow, unconscious of the gruesome scene it had just given stage. The phantom was gone, but the echo of its words still reverberated in his bones. A cold sweat was on his brow and the blood pulsed between his temples. In the shadows between the emergency lights the silence returned, closing up like a slab over a sarcophagus. Like a held breath, the unnatural hush wrapped its shroud around the asteroid once again, a dead cloak for a dead world.

Unable to hold back any longer, a sharp wheeze escaped Kanan’s throat. He was close to panting.

Hera checked over her shoulder. Lekku tight, she squeezed his arm again. “What is it?”

“It’s… ah…” His voice rasped against a dry throat. After a strained gulp, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried again. “It’s noth-”

“It’s not nothing.” The firmness in her voice was tempered only by the concern in her face. Her fingers smoothed over his arm, up to his face where she worriedly ran her thumb over his cheek. “Something’s been wrong since we came to Polis Massa,” she said, holding his gaze. “What’s going on, Kanan? You can trust me.”

The nervous clench in Kanan’s heart loosened at the sound of her voice, the warmth of her hand, and the compassion in her eyes. She was right; he could trust her. He’d already trusted her with more than he’d ever imagined trusting anyone again. Why was this so different? Why was he trying to hide this from her when she was already seeing it?

Kanan had been ignoring the answer, just like he’d been trying to ignore the suffocating silence of Polis Massa and the phantom echoes. But looking at the worry in Hera’s eyes as she tightened her grip on his shoulder, he knew the truth.

It was one thing for Hera to know he was connected to the Force; it was another for her to know how weak he was with it. It’d been years since he trained, meditated, or did anything to maintain (much less improve) his Force skills. Every time he’d used it in the past ten years had been out of fear or instinct. If fact, he’d spent far more time burying it, always hoping that denying the Force would somehow sever his connection to it. Complicating matters further, it hadn’t escaped Kanan's attention that it hadn’t been until he’d used the Force to save her on Vidian’s  _Forager_ that Hera had taken serious interest in him. Or that it hadn’t been until he’d confessed to being a Padawan that she’d opened herself to a relationship with him. If she found out how estranged he was to the Force, how powerless he really was...

But Hera wasn’t stupid. He had to tell her something.

“It’s this place,” his voice scratched. “Or it’s the telepaths. Or…” His eyes locked on the door again and his mind replayed the bloodied woman and her horror-stained cry.

_Please! Don’t kill me!_

He gulped the dry air again.

Hera’s hand worried at his shoulder. “Has this ever happened to you before?” she asked.

He thought again, this time about those days in the gutters of Kaller when his young mind had been thick with nightmares. He’d often imagined the thump of stormtroopers’ boots coming to drag him to his death. But this was different. These were noises and voices clear enough to make him believe they were real, and a sense of cold doom that colored everything around him ashen gray in the Force. How could he even begin to explain any of this to Hera?

Kanan opened his mouth and she leaned forward almost imperceptibly. The first words were still forming in his mind when another voice filled the room instead.

_“Attention. Attention. This is the Security of Polis Massa Settlement. Attention.”_

Reluctantly, Kanan and Hera shifted their gazes to a small speaker imbedded by the door controls. From the ambient echo, it sounded like the voice was being broadcast throughout all of Topside Dome.

_“An accident has occurred in the landing bay. All registered commanders of docked space craft are required to report to Waystation Dome immediately. We repeat: An accident has occurred in the landing bay. All registered commanders of docked space craft are required to report to Waystation Dome immediately… Attention. Attention. This is the Security of…”_

The announcement had hardly begun to repeat when a loud banging shattered the air.

_Bam! Bam! Bam!_

Guttural hisses and gurgles pierced the door, making Kanan’s face pinch.

“Okay! We heard it!” he shouted. “We’re coming!”

There was a final thump on the door followed by a sharp whistle, then the room was quiet again.

The air leaked out of Kanan’s lungs like he was deflating. This evening hadn’t gone anything like he’d planned (or hoped) by any stretch of the imagination. Slipping out from under Hera’s hand, he grabbed his belt and fastened it around his waist.

“We gotta go,” he said to the carpet. “The owner’s not giving my credits back.”

 

*  *  *

 

The lift waiting area seethed as undulating heads bobbed up and down trying to catch sight of the doors. Were they open yet? Who was getting off? Was there any news? About thirty people from a dozen species milled around the small area. Their attitudes ranged from “slightly annoyed” to “ready to punch the wall.” As they approached, Kanan steered clear of a tall Chagrian who looked about to put a hole through the bulkhead.

From what he remembered of their past trip to the landing bay, Kanan estimated that about half the visitors were here and the other half was already at Waystation Dome. Whether they were being kept there or taken to their ships for inspection was anyone’s guess. The tight gang of frustratingly calm Kallidahin security guards by the lift doors was sparse with details. They gestured slowly as they repeated the same lines. “We will inform you of any changes immediately. Only authorized personnel are allowed in the landing bay at this time.” Kanan steered clear of them, too.

Eventually, he and Hera found an unoccupied patch of wall far from the psychic chatter and leaned against it, facing the crowd. Hera's hand had scarcely left his arm since the incident in the room. Even now, it rested at his elbow and occasionally tightened around his bicep as if to remind him that she was still there. In another circumstance, Kanan would have felt patronized, but right now he was too busy kneading his forehead with his fingertips. The chatter of voices, the buzz of the Kallidahins… The din swarmed around his head and echoed off the lifeless, hollow walls of Polis Massa.

Mouth pulled in a frown, Hera craned her head as she searched the milling bodies. The restless captains and crews shifted from one foot to the other, the tension in the vestibule thick enough to swim through. Everyone was huddled to their own kind, their own companions, muttering and watching the doors–and eachother.

After a moment she reached out her free hand to touch a nearby Gran on the shoulder.

“Excuse me. Do you know what’s going on?” she asked.

When the other woman turned, all three of her eyes flashed with recognition. It was the woman from the cantina, the one who had pointed them to Giza’s people. Like everyone else clustered in the vestibule, she held a worried tension in her shoulders. Glancing around, she gave the closed lift doors a hard look before stepping closer to Hera.

“They say there was a fire,” she explained. “The emergency crews put it out, but they’re still in the landing bay, just in case.”

Hera’s eyes widened. A fire in a space port was no joke. “Was everyone okay?” she asked.

The Gran nodded. “No casualties…” Her right eye bent towards the doors again. “I think some people were hurt, though. No one’s sure who or how many.”

“Was there a breach?” Kanan’s voice popped out.

For the first time, the Gran acknowledged his presence. Her left eye took in Hera’s hand around his arm and then returned to his face. “No, thank Doellin.” The Gran woman rubbed her many-fingered hands together. “Some of my people were down there. I’m just glad they’re all safe."

“Do they know what caused the fire?” Hera pressed.

She shrugged. “Nobody’s really saying anything, but from the way security’s acting, I don’t think it was an accident. I talked to my people down there a little.” She spared another look around at the crowd. A few eyes and ears were turned in their direction, so she stepped closer and lowered her voice. Kanan had to bend over to hear her. “They said there was some kind of quarrel right before the fire broke out.”

Hera’s eyes were tight with concern. “Did they see anything?” she asked.

“No. They got in the ship an locked down as soon as the alarms started.”

"They have good training." Kanan tried a smile, but he was tired and it was slow to his face.

The Gran woman took the compliment with a kind nod just as Hera’s com began to chirp.

“Excuse me,” she said and drew the link from her pocket. The Gran returned to her companions, blending back into the crowd.

Com link ringing in her fingers, Hera finally released her grip on Kanan’s arm. She turned to face the wall and held the com to one ear while she covered the other with her hand. “What’s the report?” she asked.

Chopper’s vocalization buzzed from the other end, but Kanan couldn’t make out the words.

“No, no. Don’t change any of the parameters. Just follow the usual protocol, and–” she glanced up at Kanan. Her face was tight. After a second she said, “There are some spare parts in Kanan’s cabin I want to you get.”

Kanan’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. His instinct was to scan the crowd to see who was listening, but he didn’t dare draw any extra attention to the conversation.

Hera went on. “There’s a power pack and a modulator. Put them in the tool box with the other spare parts.”

The com buzzed.

“I don’t know what he was doing with them, but I want the ship in top shape for inspection.”

More grumbling.

“Does it matter? Just put them back where they belong. I’ll talk to him about it before we get back.”

A question.

“Two hours? Maybe more?”

Chopper said something vaguely affirmative and the com went silent. After she stuffed it back in her pocket, Hera finally met Kanan’s face, now carefully arranged in a neutral expression that oozed anxiety.

He didn’t want that mechanical monster in his cabin, much less touching his lightsaber. Did the droid even know what it was? Kanan had never told it about his past–why would he? But if it had any inkling at all, this would be the droid’s big chance to drop Kanan’s last link to the Jedi into the incinerator. Or worse. Although his deepest fears screamed otherwise, Kanan couldn’t imagine Chopper turning him into the authorities. That would mean turning in Hera, too. And if there was one thing Kanan knew about Chopper, it was that the little junk heap would never risk losing her to the Empire.

Hera leaned closer to him. “It’ll be okay,” she said confidently, but the droop to her lekku and the lines around her eyes weren’t as convincing.

Kanan reached for her hand, but it was suddenly unsteady, threatening to tremble, so he pulled it back. That was when an unwelcome, metallic voice cut through the chatter.

“Excuse me,” it seared through his head. Kanan was so stunned he didn’t even recoil; he just stretched out his face like his jaw needed to pop.

Hera turned slowly to face three Polis Massa security guards gathered behind her. Hidden from their view, her arm pushed against her side, checking for the hold-out blaster hidden beneath her jumpsuit. Kanan followed her lead and stepped slightly to the right. He wanted a clear shot if he needed to use his own.

Hera eyed the three svelte-framed humanoids. “Can I help you?” she asked.

The lead guard tilted his blank face to the left. “We are from the Polis Massa Security Investigative Branch. Information was uncovered that indicates you may have information which pertains to an ongoing investigation.”

Kanan ground his teeth together at the telepathic clamor. If he’d had hackles, they would have raised up. Hera was doing much better. Her lekku hung loose and fluid behind her back as she swayed to one hip and set her arm akimbo.

The Kallidahin reached behind his back, but instead of a weapon or binders, the diminutive being produced a datapad. He pushed one of the icons and turned the screen in her direction.

“One point six standard hours ago, you were seen in the legal district lift having a conversation with this individual. She is now a person of interest in an investigation that it ongoing. We wish to speak to you about this interaction and any other information you may have regarding this individual.”

Behind her back, Hera’s lekku twitched. On the screen, grainy security footage of a crowded lift showed her talking with another Twi’lek woman with blue skin and black tattoos. The conversation seemed normal enough at first, but soon Hera began to look uncomfortable, then angry. Eventually the lift emptied of passengers and the two were left alone. After another minute the other woman set her hand on Hera’s shoulder and said a final word before departing, leaving Hera on the empty vessel. The time stamp was just before Kanan’d returned to Topside Dome to find her sitting in the waiting area deep in thought.

“Hera?” he asked through the sting in his mind.

She glanced up at him, but immediately turned back to the security guards. “I understand,” she said. “You have my full cooperation.”

The leader nodded to the left again and handed the datapad to one of his compatriots. “Please accompany us to Waystation Dome for debriefing immediately.”

They had only made it a few steps before the leader stopped. For the first time, his featureless face turned to Kanan. The vapid circles of his eyes cut straight through him. He turned to Hera.

“My apologies,” the voice clanged. “This is a private interview in an official investigation. Only person directly linked to the investigation are permitted to participate in the investigation.”

Anxious tension rushed into Kanan’s shoulders. Hera spun to face him, lekku flying. Their eyes met only long enough for her to see how much he did not want to be left alone on Polis Massa. Her lips pursed and she turned back to the security guard.

“Then my crew can wait for me on my ship,” she said.

The Kallidahin’s head tilted right. “It is not possible for unchecked persons to enter the landing bay during security lock-down and investigation. Your crewmember will have to wait in Topside Dome unless he is a registered commander of your vessel.” The beady eyes considered Kanan and returned to Hera. “Is he a registered commander of your vessel?”

Hands and lekku curled, she answered. “No.”

“I’m sorry. Your crewmember is required to remain in Topside Dome during security lock-down and investigation.”

Kanan’s neck was hot. Hera was about to be taken away by security guards to a place he couldn’t follow. And he wouldn't be allowed to return to the ship where he could be in a better position to help her if things went sideways. But almost as important, Kanan's head was still ringing from the noise and silence of Polis Massa, and the noise of it was getting worse.

Kanan wanted to reach for her, but couldn’t.

“Can we have a minute to arrange our schedule?” she asked evenly.

Another slow tilt to the left indicated approval.

Taking him by the elbow again, Hera led Kanan back to the wall.

“What’s going on?” he whispered as soon as they were out of earshot. “Who is that woman?”

Hera crossed her arms and set one hand to her forehead. “She’s… someone I used to know,” she said. “From Ryloth.”

“From Ryloth?” he repeated. “As in, from _Ryloth_ Ryloth?”

She looked away, avoiding his eyes. His meaning was clear. “ _Ryloth_ Ryloth” could only mean one thing: Free Ryloth, the terrorist group headed by her father.

Hera nodded.

Kanan bit his lip to keep from swearing. His tired head swam with questions. Was Hera in some kind of trouble? Were _they_ in trouble? Why hadn’t she told him about this right away? What was Free Ryloth doing on Polis Massa anyway?

But even in his clouded mind ringing from the Kallidahin’s metallic voices, Kanan knew most of the answers. Hera wouldn’t have just agreed to cooperate with the Polis Massans if she thought she was in any danger of being arrested. And she wouldn’t have agreed to be separated from Kanan if she thought he was in any danger, either. That still left a few unknowns hanging in the air and she moved to clear them.

“I didn’t think it would matter,” she said, voice low, but clear. “And I have no idea what they’re doing this far out on the Rim. If I did, I’d probably tell them.” She glanced back at the trio of security agents waiting near a crowd that was eyeing her and Kanan more and more with each passing second.

As he followed her eyes, the hollowness of Polis Massa opened up around him again. Marching boots, louder than ever. A young woman’s voice choked with fear. “ _Please! Don’t kill me!”_

As quickly as it opened up, the void snapped shut and Kanan was left to shiver with the shock of it.

He met Hera’s eyes and trapped them to his own. His whisper was harsh. “I want to get out of here,” he said.

The same worry from before pulled her beautiful face into a frown. “I know, love.”

_“Now.”_

Her mouth opened and closed, but she had nothing to say. Behind her, the security agents shifted as their patience ran thin. The leader took a step forward, but Kanan held up a single finger, stopping him in his slow tracks.

Kanan caught Hera’s eyes again. “If you’re not back in two hours, I’m coming to find you.”

Her eyes flashed strong and steady. “Four.”

“Three,” he countered.

After a moment, she nodded and agreed. “Three.”

“Then get going.” Kanan tilted his chin over her shoulder. “The clock’s already started.”

The smug, amused smile that he’d come to adore swept across her lips and then disappeared as she turned around. With a single, troubled look over her shoulder, she joined Polis Massa security and melted into the crowd. Up by the lift doors, a new wave of murmurs was erupting.

With a searing resonance, a Kallidahin voice boomed through the waiting area. “The lift is approaching," it said. "Please form an orderly line. All registered commanders will be granted access to Waystation Dome. Please form an orderly line.” A second, tinnier voice added, “Polis Massa Security wishes to grant everyone safe and orderly access to their vessels for inspection and confirmation of safety. Please form an orderly line.”

Kanan seethed and pressed his hand to his head. It was like the flesh had been carved out behind his eye and only raw bone was left for the disembodied voices to scrape against. A few groans rose up from among the other beings gathered around. He wasn’t the only one who hated all this psychic prattle, but from the looks of it, he was the only one who felt it trying to scrape out his gray matter.

The lift doors opened and there was some commotion as the security personnel sorted out the incoming and outgoing passengers. Between the bobbing heads, there was a flash of green as Hera stepped into the lift without him. The doors hushed closed and the lights disappeared into the darkness. As soon as they were gone, Kanan sank his face into his hands.

What was going on? What the _kriff_ was going on?

He stayed that way for a long time, rubbing slowly at his forehead as he tried to pull together a coherent thought. Hera would be fine. She wouldn’t have left if she thought she wouldn’t come back. And she could handle herself; he’d seen it plenty of times. She didn’t need him to protect her. But maybe that wasn’t what he was worried about. Maybe it wasn’t Hera who needed protecting.

As he squeezed his eyes tighter, he pressed the back of his head into the wall. One after another, he drew deep breaths of recycled air into his lungs. He needed to calm down, get his bearings, and form a plan. He was good at that. All he needed was a few minutes to think out the situation and he would be fine. He could keep it together for a few more hours. He just needed to focus.

Pulse finally slowing, Kanan dropped his hands from his face and took in a deep, slow breath, but by the end his nose was wrinkling. He snuffed out the sour air and tried again, but had the same result. What was that smell?

Opening his eyes, he scanned the gathered conglomeration of beings. Thankfully, no one was paying attention to him. But no one was paying attention to the growing stench, either, not even the Ansionian who kept checking the battery in his com link. And Ansionians smelled everything.

With a growing sense of doom, Kanan sniffed cautiously. The smell was stronger. It was sweet and metallic, and something about it made his stomach churn, like–

_The slight figure pressed her hands to her hip, skirts and fingers dripping. She tried to staunch the wound, but it was beyond repair._

_PLEASE! DON’T KILL ME!_

Kanan was gone.

Speeding around the corner onto the main causeway, he didn’t care how many people he bumped into. Even when he knocked a small Sullustan woman into the railing he didn’t slow down. The pathway disappeared under his long legs. The only thing stopping him from breaking into a run was that he had no idea where he was going.

Kallidahins. He had to get away from them. But where? They were everywhere in Topside Dome, milling around the central atrium and catwalks. There had been plenty down in the legal district, too, though less than up here on the surface. Wracking his memory, Kanan could think of only one place where he hadn’t seen a single blank, white face with dead, tiny eyes: _Drinks and Drinks_ , the cantina where he and Hera had barely dodged the crossfire between an angry Lasat and an angrier Rhodian.

Finally with a destination, Kanan turned to the west corridors and the bridge that would take him to the mining district. It was a shorter walk than he remembered and soon he was standing across from the narrow double-doors of the cantina. The arched entrance was darker than before, and it took him a few seconds to realize that the lights were off. The neon signs that had blazed the establishment’s unsubtle name stood cold and dark. The automated poster of the woman sipping a cocktail was motionless in the window, frozen in a permanent wink.

Kanan anxiously patted his hand against his thigh, thinking. Should he try to find another establishment? If this one was closed, did that mean others would be, too? And if the closure had something to do with the lock-down, he had the feeling refuge would be harder to come by than an ice-cube on Kessel.

As he absently scratched his forehead on his bicep, there was a clatter of empty bottles. Kanan stopped mid-scratch. The sound hadn’t come from inside his head; it’d come from the cantina.

Looking left and right to make sure he was alone, he approached the lifeless poster and pressed his ear to the window. There was a shuffle of a chair being dragged against the floor and a clink of glasses.

Someone was inside.

Edging on desperation, he gave the corridors another quick glance before casually backing into the dark archway of the double doors. All but invisible, he sunk into the shadows and pressed his hand to the control plate. To his surprise, the doors slid open.

Inside, the cantina was just as he remembered it, only darker. The wall of liquor and its mirror glittered dimly in the warm back-lighting set behind the bar. A single tube of red neon outlining the ceiling cast the tables in a deep-shadowed lambency. The tables were in good order unlike the last time he had seen them, but one stood out with six or seven tall bottles and two enormous purple feet perched on top. The owner's face was hidden behind the bottom of a large glass as he guzzled the contents noisily.

Kanan inched forward. “Zeb?” he asked.

The furry Lasat finished his mug with a satisfied sigh before wiping the foam from his goatee. If he was surprised to see Kanan, he didn’t show it. His bulbous eyes narrowed on him slowly. “I thought I told you to stay away from me,” he said.

“You did,” Kanan agreed, still meandering towards the table. “But I’m not here for you.”

“Place is closed,” he grunted and finished off the dregs in his glass.

“I can see that,” Kanan agreed.

“Then what are you here for?” Zeb grunted. He set down the mug and reached for one of the bottles.

Kanan’s eyes drifted over the liquors and mixers lined against the wall. The sparkle of the glass and the smell of stale ale stuck to the floor brought back memories. Was it only four months ago that he was pouring drinks and straightening out roughnecks on Gorse? It felt like half a lifetime ago, but somehow being here in the closed up cantina he could feel how close behind him those days really were.

“A break,” he finally said, answering Zeb’s question.

The long-limbed Lasat topped off his glass and leaned back in his chair, popping the front two legs off of the ground. He took a drink and Kanan took a few steps closer.

“How about you?”

With a shrug of his powerful shoulders, he sniffed. “I’m doing what I want. Isn’t that what people are supposed to do? What else is life for?” He took a long gulp and Kanan took his chance to close the last few meters between them. “I’m just here to drink and enjoy myself and not be around blood-sucking, filthy, scavenger pirates who can’t see a good thing even after it’s kicked them five times in the arse–the wanks.” His chair slammed back onto the ground as he leaned forward. Grabbing another bottle, he poured a watery red liquid into a wide-bottomed tumbler. Thousands of tiny bubbles danced in quick circles before fizzling into the air. Zeb pushed the glass in Kanan’s direction. “Have a drink,” he said.

Kanan lifted the glass. Even in the dim lights, his reflection was clear and glossy in the red liquid. The last bubbles were snapping to the surface, releasing the sharp aroma of Hosnian vodka. The scent reminded him of a bar he used to frequent on Hosnian Prime back when he was working a diamond drill making undercarriage plating for speeders. It’d been a boring job, but the pay’d been good. Other than that, there wasn’t a lot else he remembered about that place. In his travels he’d visited close to forty worlds and most of them had been forgettable waystations.

As he stared at his face encircled by the glass, Kanan felt the cold breath of Polis Massa opening its jaws for him again, like he was standing in front of the maw of some gigantic beast. Half of him tensed for the marching and the screams, the Mirialan’s diamond-tattooed hands fumbling at a deadly wound. The other half of him looked deeply into the glass and the face reflected there.

He was sick of this feeling, sick of the Force using him as its punching bag. And Hera would be gone for hours.

In one quick motion, Kanan downed the vodka and set the empty glass back on the table. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected from Zeb, but it wasn’t the one he got.

The Lasat scooped up the bottle and refilled the glass. As he rocked back into his chair, he kicked the one opposite him out from the table, making Kanan jump to avoid getting hit. With a grunt, Zeb nodded to the open seat. Without a word Kanan took it and started in on his second Hosnian vodka, this time a little slower–but barely. The alcohol was fast-acting. By the bottom of his second glass, he could feel the alcohol searing through his arms into his fingertips. It settled into a dull, familiar hum that muted everything around him. The darkness was softer, the glug of Zeb’s drinking was less obnoxious, and most importantly, Polis Massa was drifting into the background with the stinging wounds of a dozen telepathic voices.

As he filled Kanan’s glass for the third time, Zeb began to talk.

“You ever been in a war, kid?” his gruff voice intoned.

Kanan’s hand didn’t falter as he took up the drink.

“Yeah. Once.” He threw back a gulp. “And I’m not a kid. Nobody’s a kid who goes through that hell.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Zeb took a long draw from his mug–some kind of ale, Kanan decided. “Where’d you do your fighting?”

“No place I ever want to go back to,” he dodged. “These days most of my fights are with flight controllers.” He thought about it a little more and added, “–and droids.”

“You mean that scrap heap rolling around your ship?” Zeb scoffed. “What’s a hunk of junk like that doing on a ship that nice?”

Kanan gave a bitter laugh. “It’s my captain’s droid. She’s had it forever. Won’t wipe its memory.”

“You could always take it in for a little _refurbishing_ while she’s not looking, if you know what I mean. Probably do you both a favor. Take it from me,” he said raising his glass a little. “The past’s not something to hang onto.”

“Nah. She’d blow me out the airlock before I got its panels off,” he said, and wondered how accurate his words were as they left his mouth. Kanan sloshed his drink around a few times, watching the bubbles. “You’re right about one thing, though. The past’s not something to hang onto.”

Zeb pointed at Kanan with the same hand holding his ale. His huge, green eyes were deadly serious. “Dead weight pulling you straight down to the grave.”

Kanan frowned and half-shrugged, tapping his finger on the side of the glass.

“What? You don’t believe me?” Zeb chided.

He shrugged again, looking at the chrome tabletop. “Some days all I want is to forget what happened. It pops up, you know? Like it’s crawling out of the walls.”

Face carefully passive, Zeb took a deep drink, but there was a hitch in his shoulders. He finished with a noisy sigh and his bulbous eyes reduced to cynical slits. “But?” he prompted.

With a frustrated grunt, Kanan shook his head. “But other times, it shows up out of nowhere to save my ass.” He drank down the rest of his vodka before he could see Zeb’s reaction.

“Save your ass?” Zeb asked. “Or kick it back down?”

This earned a laugh from Kanan. “Sometimes it feels like the same thing,” he agreed.

Zeb gave a short snort. “The training’s a hard thing to shake, isn’t it?” After a second he added, “Did you serve for a long time?”

“Years. You?” he said and pulled back his lips against the vodka's sting.

“Same.” Zeb was almost to the bottom of his glass and leaned in for a refill. “Where’re you from, anyway?” he asked.

It was far from the first time Kanan’d heard that question, but somehow he felt his usual answer of “around” wasn’t going to cut it was as well with Zeb as it had with Hera. After a moments of mulling, he settled on the truth.

“I don’t know."

“Come on,” Zeb crooned bitterly.

“I don’t know,” he said again, this time more forcefully. “I don’t know where I was born. I don’t even know who my parents were. I never met them. Hell, I could knock them over in a bar fight and I wouldn’t know who they were.”

Zeb’s large mouth frowned with cynical incredulity. “You make a habit of knocking over old people in a bar fights?”

“You know what I’m saying,” grumbled Kanan defensively.

Pleased with himself, Zeb raised his mug.

Setting down this empty tumbler on the chrome tabletop, Kanan flexed his fingers. They were slow and stiff. Or were they quick? Opening and closing his palm, he couldn’t decide which. But he did know that he felt a lot better than he had… thirty minutes ago? An hour? He looked around for a chronometer, but there was none in sight. Typical for a cantina.

“So what’s your deal?” he asked, swinging his attention back to the table.

“Hrm?” Zeb’s ears twitched forward around what could have easily been his sixth mug.

Kanan leaned back in his chair, letting his long legs stretch out in front of him while one arm dangled over the back. “What’s your deal?” he repeated. “What are you doing on this rock?”

Zeb rolled his eyes around the dim room as if he could see through the walls to the dead stone beyond. “Creepy, isn’t it? A whole colony digging out a dead world? Makes my skin crawl.” After another second he shrugged with his face. “Well, I guess now I’m looking for a job.”

“Leaving your scavenger buddies?”

“Low-life bottom feeders,” Zeb grumbled with a few other insults. “Yeah, I’m done with them.”

“So what? You’re looking to join a new crew?”

The Lasat narrowed his green eyes. “I told you to forget that,” he half-growled. “I’m not joining up with some revolutionaries looking for trouble.”

“We’re not revolutionaries looking for trouble,” Kanan retorted knowing that Zeb was only half wrong.

He gestured grandly with a purple paw. “Then tell me, friend. What’s _your_ deal?”

Kanan was caught off-guard by the reversal. His unfocused eyes drifted to the floor as he tapped his forefinger against the rim of the glass dangling  from his fingers.

“Hope?” he said uncertainly.

“Hope,” the Lasat repeated. He gave a long, dark laugh. “You’re even crazier than I thought.”

Kanan looked at him through slit eyes, smug smile on his lips. “Maybe," he said. "But did you see what she looks like?”

This elicited a roar of laughter. Zeb’s pointed teeth gleamed in the red-orange light as he guffawed. When he had calmed down to a chuckle, he said, “Not my type, but I can see it.”

“Thanks for the approval.” Kanan lifted the vodka to his lips. Even on his fourth glass the liquor and carbonation burned down his throat.

“She get you into trouble?” Zeb's voice came again.

“Oh yeah.” He smiled.

“So she’s the revolutionary?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Kanan made a careless gesture. “Beats what I was doing before.”

“Which was what?”

“Nothing.” He rolled the red liquid around his glass. “Nothing at all.”

Zeb gave an empty gruff that could have been a laugh. “Must be nice,” he said. When he caught Kanan’s confused look, he added, “Believing in something again, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he said, and didn't miss the bitter tone to his own voice. To himself he whispered, “Sure beats running away.”

_CRACK!_

Zeb’s fist connected with Kanan’s face so fast he didn’t stand a chance of dodging it. He tumbled out of the chair, rolling to his hands and knees. Somewhere to his left, the half-empty glass of Hosnian vodka shattered across the floor.

With a vicious snarl, Zeb rounded the table. “What did you say to me?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t talking about you, moron!” Kanan wiped at his mouth. His hand came back with a trickle of blood, but nothing more. Then, pushing himself off the sticky floor said, “I was talking about me. And that was one hell of a punch.”

Zeb was taken aback. His flattened ears popped up one at a time as his fierce expression, all fangs and fiery eyes, slowly dismantled itself. Before his fists had even unclenched, Kanan was offering his hand.

“Help me up, idiot,” he growled.

Zeb looked at the human hand, uncurled his giant fist, and pulled Kanan to his feet. It was a few seconds before the human regained his balance and Zeb held out a strong arm to help steady him. Finally upright, Kanan rubbed the left side of his face and wondered how much more it was going to hurt when the alcohol wore off. He shifted his jaw and stretched his neck.

“With an arm like that you’ll find a new crew in no time,” he said.

The Lasat shuffled his massive feet and rubbed the back of his neck. “Bashing skulls has always been one of my specialties,” he said almost sheepishly.

“I believe it.” Kanan gave his jaw another tender probe and gestured back to the table. “Sit down,” he said. “You owe me another drink for that.”

Zeb laughed uncertainly. “Yeah. I guess I do.”


	10. The Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera searches for Kanan, only to find him drinking with Zeb. When they try to leave, they finally meet the mysterious Giza, who has some unsavory business to settle with Zeb.

Lekku drooping against her shoulders and feet dragging against the duracrete, Hera put a hand to the back of her neck and stretched. It had only been two hours, but it’d felt like five. The Security Investigators had asked about Talik, about Free Ryloth, and about her whereabouts since arriving on Polis Massa just… a cycle before? Had it only been that long? How could that be? So much had happened.

After the Kallidahins had slowly drilled her on the last twenty-four hours, they’d questioned her about the last week. Then the last month. Then the last three months. Just when Hera was sure it would take three months to get through their questions, a new security officer had entered the room and asked every single question again. Hera wasn’t new to this game; she understood that this tactic was meant to reveal inconsistencies in her story. And because there was very little for her to hide from the Kallidahins, she was happy enough to cooperate. But by the time the second round had finally finished and the Security Investigator waved a slow, pale hand at the door, Hera’s lekku were vibrating. Every telepathic syllable was like an aluminum rod banging against a rock. Now, as she approached the _Ghost_ , her heart went out to Kanan more than ever. The searing headache behind her eyes was certainly only a fraction of what he was experiencing. She was resolved: as soon as she was back onboard, they’d file for clearance and leave Polis Massa for good.

That wasn’t the only reason to leave. From what she’d gleaned from Security’s questions, Free Ryloth was still loose. The way Hera saw it, there was no way of knowing if Talik had gotten what she was after when the explosion happened. That left her with only two options: either she’d be looking to sneak off-world as quickly as possible, or she’d strike again–causing who-knows-what level of damage–and _then_ try to sneak off-world. Unless she tried to blast her way out. Hera’s eyes flit around the vast, subterranean chamber up to the entry doors overhead. It’d be a fool’s errand to rush that tunnel and risk venting the whole landing bay. Then again, that hadn’t stopped them just a few hours ago.

Mind spiraling into possibilities, contingencies, and conjectures, Hera pushed the noisy thoughts out of her throbbing head. Only one thing was certain above all else: they needed to leave. Now.

The sub-light engines on a Delta-12 Skysprite sputtered before roaring to life just as she passed. As it pulled up its landing gear, Hera crossed to the other side of the pedestrian pathway. The wide-open area buzzed with traffic, both overhead and on the ground. Half the ships she’d seen that morning were long gone, replaced by others that had been kept waiting in space. A droid towing a heavy hovercart beeped noisily at two spacers having a heated discussion in the intersection. The organics shuffled out of the way, one of them sending an empty kick after the mechanical currier before returning to the argument. Hera gave them a wide berth too as she turned the last corner and the _Ghost_ finally came into view.

Her shoulders sagged with relief. In just a matter of minutes they would be flying away from this rock and all of its many, varied troubles. One trouble was inescapable, though, Hera reminded herself. In the cockpit window, Chopper he waved his pincers before twirling his dome and speeding off to lower the cargo bay door. Binary chattering poured down from the open hatch to the cockpit as she climbed the latter. Hoisting herself onto the deck, the droid barely backed away enough for her to hit the door control and reseal the ship.

With a sigh that emptied her lungs, Hera dropped into the pilot’s seat and let her weight spin the chair part-way towards the console. She set her head back on the rest, letting her lekku dangle over the floor.

“Don’t worry, Chop, we’re not in trouble,” she said to the ceiling. “The mission was a bust.”

“ _Hhh-mmm-wop-wahhh!_ ” Chopper exploded with his usual energy. It was no wonder the mission was a failure, he explained. She’d left him on the ship the whole time! How did she expect to find this ‘Giza’ without cross referencing the accountants’ ledgers with Flight Control’s manifests?

“There’s not really a place to access that information without two or three levels of security clearance.”

“ _Brrr-mrr-rrr!_ ”

“It wasn’t worth the risk of getting black listed. Polis Massa’s a good port.” She made a face to herself even as she said it. Right now, she didn’t know if she’d ever come back here again.

Beeping furiously, Chopper insisted that wasn’t the point. Things had gone wrong and he’d been stuck on the opposite side of this hunk of asteroid, unable to get to her. What if she’d needed him? He doubted the space meat would be able to hack his way through a security lockdown. He was barely competent enough to calculate jumps to hyperspace without sending them through a star. Where was the waste of organic matter, anyway?

Hera cracked open an eye. All of Chopper’s noisy binary was making her headache heavier. Her voice came as half a croak. “You mean he’s not here?”

“ _Mr-mr-bbb-wop-grr_ ,” he grumbled, adding a short decompression at the end, like an exacerbated sigh.

Hera lifted her head and looked behind her down the main hallway. This whole time she’d been expecting Kanan to walk down it any second, assuming he was in the fresher or his cabin. She turned her eyes to Chopper.

“Did he check in with you?”

_“Dr-hrr-WAP! Hrr-HRR-wop!”_

“The security cordon was dropped half an hour ago. He should be back here by now.”

Chopper muttered possible explanations under the whir of his cooling fan. Maybe he got lost or maybe he didn’t know the lockdown was over. Maybe the Polis Massans jettisoned him into space to save oxygen, or sold him off to the Imperia-

_“Chopper!”_

He rolled back as if Hera’s voice had reached out and struck him.

“We do not say things like that about people we-” She stopped the next words from coming out of her mouth, bit them back and rearranged them into something else. Something calmer. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that about anyone on our crew. Ever. Do you understand me?”

The dented, orange dome wandered right then left before falling still and silent. Chopper had crossed a line in Hera, made keener by the layers of mental exhaustion that had been piling on her mind. With all that they’d endured on this visit, she didn’t need to entertain the idea that Kanan wouldn’t be coming back.

With a roll and a grunt, she lifted herself out of the chair.

“I’m going to find him,” she said. “You stay here. Make sure we’re cleared for takeoff as soon as we get back.” And she didn’t give a response to the mandatory grumblings as she descended the ladder.

 

*  *  *

 

_“Sss not hrrr.”_

“Well, did he come back?” Hera fought to keep her voice calm and even. She was struggling to understand the reptilian woman’s Basic as it was; getting frustrated wasn’t going to help.

The proprietress of level three, besh corridor, 495 made a low, hissing growl as she blinked slowly. _“Nnno.”_

Fists already clenched, Hera pressed her eyes closed. “Thank you for your help. Sorry to tr-” A  whoosh of air blaster her in the face and Hera opened her eyes on another closed door. The room she and Kanan had rented for less than an hour had been her last idea.

Stepping away from the door and its rainbow-tiled numbers, Hera scrubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. It’d been three hours since she’d last seen Kanan and left with Polis Massa security and one hour since she’d returned to Topside Dome to search for him. When he wasn’t waiting for her at the lift (like she’d hoped he would be), she’d assumed he’d gone looking for Giza again. Hera had made her way down to the legal section again and relived its eccentric smells. On the lower levels, the corridors were flooded with clients and document runners. Held back by the incident in the landing bay, business had opened up like a river dam, drowning every customs broker and importer with delayed transactions, overdue paperwork, and a healthy dose of impatience–except for Ms. Nebiwotz who seemed to have closed up early rather than face the mobs.

As Hera had made her way back to the main concourse of Topside Dome, her mind had turned to more dire possibilities. The med center had been her next stop, but it was full of Rodians sick with food poisoning from their own ship’s galley. The brig was empty of all but a few kids caught trespassing in a holo-cinema. After that, Hera had crisscrossed the asteroid visiting all the likely spots until only the unlikely ones remained. Level three, besh corridor, 495 seemed the least probable of all with how badly it had affected Kanan. But now that that option was spent, too, Hera was drawing a blank.

With a shuffle of her feet, she wandered towards the walkway overlooking the central atrium. The railing was cold as she gripped it, even through her gloves. Tense with frustration, she leaned forward, resting her torso on the aluminum bar. As her lekku dangled over the side, she watched the people three stories below. There were benches and tables surrounding the inverted cone of oxygen-giving foliage suspended from the ceiling. Many beings sat together talking, or alone working on data pads. There was still plenty of buzz going on about the explosion and the lockdown, which was apparently still in effect in some parts of the station. Security personnel were down there, too, presumably keeping an eye out for trouble and answering questions.

Hera closed her eyes again and whispered, “Where are you?”

Hanging her head over the atrium, Hera felt weightless. Her head was throbbing, her shoulders were tight, and her knees were starting to tire. How long had it been since she’d eaten anything? She didn’t want to stop looking for Kanan, but she didn’t know how much longer she could go without a break. Where could he have gone off to, anyway? He should have been waiting for her by the lift. She’d been well within the three hour limit they’d set. Had he given up early and come looking for her? Maybe he’d tried to muscle his way onto the lift to follow her and gotten himself arrested. She had a feeling that security would have told her if anything’d happened to him, though. What else could it be?

Screwing shut her eyes, Hera fought against her tired gray matter for an answer. Then it hit her. Talik. Free Ryloth was still at large. Earlier that day, in the lift, Talik had asked her about Kanan. And if she’d followed them to the room, then…

Hera’s eyes snapped open, wide as moons. Talik could know that she and Kanan were together. And if she was in a desperate enough situation (which Hera was sure was the case), she might have grabbed Kanan to get to her. Talik had at least five Free Ryloth operatives with her, more than enough to overpower a single human. And with his mental state deteriorating, Kanan might not have been able to defend himself. They could have easily grabbed him and taken him who-knows-where on this blasted rock.

But what would Talik plan to gain from kidnapping Kanan? To blackmail her into giving them a ride off-world? Into rejoining Free Ryloth? But Hera had been wandering around the station for an hour. If Talik had Kanan, why hadn’t she made contact yet? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense! In fact, the only thing Hera knew for certain was that the worry tied up in her gut was ready to turn her inside out. It was so coiled up that it was curling her hands around the railing and her body around itself. Her lekku twisted and shuttered as she fought against of the gravity-well of emotion. She wouldn’t get sucked down. She couldn’t. The only way to help Kanan was to keep calm and think rationally. She had no evidence that Free Ryloth knew about her relationship with Kanan, much less kidnapped him. There was a simpler, logical explanation. There had to be. But what was it? Where was he? _Where the hell are you, Kanan Jarrus?!_

“Hey!” an obstinate voice from below lanced through her thoughts. “You can’t drink that here!”

Below Hera, in the atrium, a heavy-set human was yelling at a pair of Ugnaughts. The smaller beings froze, bottles of alcohol halfway to their tusked-mouths. After looking at eachother, one of them grunted a reply.

“It doesn’t matter if all the cantinas are still closed. Just because you can’t do it there doesn’t mean you can do it here.”

The Ugnaughts had something else to say to that and one of them made some choice gestures. From across the open area, a Kallidahin security officer raised his oval head and made his way towards the altercation.

Hera stared at the scene a bit longer, her fine eyebrows pulling together. Would he go back there? The miners’ section was one of the few places she hadn’t checked yet.

As the Ugnaughts fought to keep their bottles, Hera pushed off the aluminum railing and made for the lift. Her mind chattered incoherently as her feet pounded the polished floors. Why would he go back there? Was this another dead end? Maybe she was chasing the wrong idea entirely. Maybe this had something to do with his headaches? Or did he endure psychological damage from the Kallidahins? Blast, she was tired. Soon, Hera found herself standing outside the darkened visage of the _Drinks and Drinks_ cantina.

The corridor was quiet, made more so by the cold neon of the motionless advertisements. Up and down the hallways, there was hardly a soul: only one or two people passing through, no one stopping.

Hera frowned at the narrow door, shadowed in dim light. And then she heard it: a muffled crash and peals of laughter. One of the voices was acutely familiar.

Door hushing closed behind her, Hera’s nose whiffed the scent of stale alcohol before her feet slowed to a stop. A feeling hummed through her head like white noise. Her palms tingled and her core felt strangely empty. Hidden behind her shoulders, her lekku twitched.

Kanan was on the floor, one leg caught over the seat of a chair. While his left arm braced him, the other held aloft a mug of ale, trying not to spill it as he worked to disentangle himself. Nearby, a large Lasat had his head tilted backward as he downed the last foamy dregs of his own mug. The table between them was jammed with bottles and glasses, all of them empty or close enough.

Finally extricating his leg from the chair, Kanan, now fully on the cantina floor, noticed the new arrival.

“Hera!” he called, nearly spilling his ale.  “You’re here!” He turned to Zeb who was wiping his mouth on the back of his furry arm. “Get her a drink. Get her _five_ drinks. She needs to catch up.”

“Five drinks?” Zeb asked, cocking a heavy eyebrow over his large eyes. The expression only lasted for a second before he burst into a roar of laughter that filled the cantina to its corners. Kanan joined him, barely able to stagger to his feet under the weight of the convulsions and the drink in his hand.

Hera watched in silence, wondering if she was missing out on some inside joke (or if that was giving the two drunkards too much credit). The white noise buzzing inside her intensified like an approaching swarm of bees. She watched as Kanan slowly regained his feet and waved his hand at the table.

“Come on. Pull up a chair,” he said while Zeb raised his empty glass in welcome.

Fists and lekku curled to their max, Hera’s whole body vibrated with white-hot anger. She took a deep breath in through the nose, and when she exhaled...

_“What the KRIFF is going on here?!”_

Hera’s voice sliced through the jovial atmosphere. Kanan and Zeb flinched–Kanan more so because Hera was swearing. And Hera never swore.

“Is _this_ where you’ve been? I’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you!”

“Don’t be mad.” Kanan raised his free hand in supplication and her laser-like eyes shot to the mug in his other hand. Slowly, he turned and placed it on the table, never taking his wide eyes off of her.

“It’s not what you think. I can explain everything.”

“Can you?” She wanted to destroy something, wanted to become as intimidating and threatening as possible, but anger held her in place, molten and coursing through her veins. “Then start talking,” she barked. “And this better be the best kriffing explanation I’ve ever heard.”

Zeb glanced at Kanan as he inched forward, looking for all the world like he was approaching a wild animal.

“I was working on–you know,” he said pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the Lasat. Zeb flicked one of his ears. Was he actually pretending not to listen? “I was improving relations, building trust. See?” He tapped his head and gave her a wink. “Mission first!”

Hera’s lip curled. “That’s not why I’m mad, Kanan,” she growled. “We agreed to meet at the lift _hours_ ago. What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to magically know where you went? And with everything that’s going on?”

Kanan shrugged uncomfortably and half-turned towards Zeb and the cantina. “Well, you did find me…”

“After searching the entire asteroid!” She gestured wildly as she spoke, hands and lekku whipping in all directions. “I checked all the levels, the detention center, the med center.” _I thought you might have been taken, or just gone!_ “I even went back to that _room!_ ” A low snicker bubbled up, but a frozen glance from Hera snapped Zeb’s mouth shut. “You weren’t anywhere,” she went on. “You didn’t even leave a message with Chopper.”

An annoyed expression flashed across Kanan’s face as he repressed a snide comment. Hera let it slide. Or maybe she’d call him out on it later when they were back on the ship and he was sober enough to answer.

Kanan rubbed his head with both hands. “You don’t get it! I couldn’t just sit there and, I thought you’d… just…”

She shook her head, face pulled into a deep frown. “The only thing I want from you right now is to come back to the ship and sober up. We’ll talk about the rest of this later, when we’re far away from here. Let’s go.”

Eyes on the floor, Kanan sighed. He looked back at Zeb. “You wanna change your mind about coming?” he asked, hopeless.

Zeb made an indeterminate face and opened his mouth, but Hera spoke before he could answer.

“No,” she said. “He’s no longer invited. I don’t care _who_ he knows. Now let’s go befo-”

The door gave a click and whooshed open. The dim light from the street eeked into the dim cantina and was immediately blocked out as a long line of shadows entered the room. A grungy crowd of mostly humans filed into the space. If the cantina hadn’t been closed and their faces hadn’t been so grim, the group would have blended right into the scene. Hera recognized two of the humans right away. They’d been sitting with Zeb on their first visit to _Drinks and Drinks_ and had left him behind when things got rough. The Rodian, Chugo, was with them lurking at the end of the line. Bandaged and bruised, his black eyes flooded with hate as he spotted Zeb.

The Lasat’s back straightened like a bolt and he quickly discarded his mug with the other glasses. Slowly, he got to his feet, bracing himself on the edge of table, but his hand slipped and he nearly fell taking the whole things with him. Cringing, he steadied the glasses as they clinked together precariously.

They formed a line, cutting off the only exit behind them. There were seven in all, and every one had the hard look of a life-time spacer. Their work-worn clothes were stained with oil and their lined faces spoke of long periods in deep space. One, Hera noticed, had prosthetic fingers, a common injury among scrappers and salvagers. Kanan stepped up beside her, so tense and rigid she could practically feel him sobering up.

“Garazeb Orrelios,” a female voice bounced off the chrome-lined walls, though none of the spacers had spoken. “You’ve made a lot of trouble for me today. And here I see you’re making more.”

Zeb’s ears were low as he spoke, leaning on the table for support, but more carefully this time. “It wasn’t like that, Giza. I wasn’t even in the landing bay.”

“And that was the problem, wasn’t it? You weren’t there when I needed you. You were exactly _not_ in the right place at the right time. You can forgive me for finding that a little bit… suspicious.”

With the last word, the speaker stepped into view. She came around the end of the line, patting the Rodian on the arm as she took her place at the front of the gang. The expert salvager able to dodge any Imperial inspection: the infamous Giza. But that wasn’t the name Hera knew her by.

“Ms. Nebiwotz?” she asked.

The short, stocky woman shifted her gaze to Hera. Her eyes, deft as a hawk’s, narrowed on her like prey. “Congratulations,” she said. “You know my secret. Just like I know yours.”

For a split second, fear thrilled through Hera. Next to her, Kanan’s arm shifted for a better reach of his blaster. But Ms. Nebiwotz–Giza–moved her attention back to Zeb. “Of all the groups you could have turned traitor to, Free Ryloth was not the one I expected.”

Tension puffed out of Hera with her next breath. Giza didn’t know she was an insurgent. Well, at least not what kind.

“Come on now,” Zeb drawled, trying out a weak smile. “You know I’d never throw in with some suicidal band of political nuts like them. It’s just like you always told me, _Keep your nose out to keep your nose on_.”

“Is that why Chugo saw you leave here with them last night? After you threw him across the room, that is.”

“He tried to shoot me!” Zeb gestured wildly at the Rodian whose left arm was still in a sling. Chugo only sneered back, his eyes narrowing vengefully.

Like a patient mother, Giza waited for Zeb’s outburst to fade into the walls before speaking again. She shook her greasy head. “That doesn’t sound like _keeping your nose out_ to me. In fact, it sounds like sticking in your whole head. A good way to lose it, if you ask me.”

Ears flat and wide, Zeb’s green-yellow eyes darted around the cantina as if searching for something to say.

“And you-” Hera’s attention darted back to the woman, Kanan lagging a second and a half behind her. “It’s a base attempt trying to steal what you can’t buy. As if I wouldn’t be prepared for that. No one’s going to get their hands on that T-series core without a fair price and my permission.”

A T-series tactical droid core. Her father had gone up against one during the occupation of Ryloth, unable to best it until the Republic arrived with reinforcements. A processing core like that could help Free Ryloth immensely; the tactical analysis alone could save hundreds of lives while accurately targeting hundreds more. It was a find worth a small fortune on the Black Market. Hera didn’t know how deep Free Ryloth’s pockets reached these days, but she doubted it was that far.

“You’ll never get it now–not that you had much of a chance before,” Ms. Nebiwotz’s voice droned cold and even. “This time I’ll make sure that everyone in Free Ryloth knows the rules of doing business with me, and the consequences for not obeying them. Not unlike some others.” Her eyes settled on Zeb whose tall stature wilted under her iron gaze.

Kanan gave a half chuckle, the sound hitting the room at an odd angle. “Sorry to burst your bubble, lady, but we’re not with Free Ryloth, and we’re not in the market for some old droid parts, either.”

While Hera held back a wince. It was Kanan’s style to try to talk his way out of most situations, but with all the tension in the air she wasn’t sure he could pull it off even if he’d been sober.

Before he could speak again, Hera cleared her throat. “He’s right,” she said. “We’re not with Free Ryloth. And we’re not with Zeb, either. We came here looking for you. We’d heard you were a hero. That you helped people avoid the Empire. That you saved lives.” She let her mix of disappointment and hope settle on Giza’s rotund figure, but the woman let the compliments slide off of her like silicon oil.

With a disgusted snort, she swatted away Hera’s words. “All that anti-Imperial, do-gooder attention is bad for business. I don’t sell to revolutionaries. If the merchandise was ever traced back to me I’d be branded a traitor. And an Imperial death-mark is the only thing worse for business than a bleeding heart.”

Kanan shrugged casually at Hera in what was a poor pantomime of sobriety. “Then it sounds like we’re all on the same page. So if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way. And believe me, we’ll never tell anyone you’re a ‘do-gooder.’”

He stepped around Hera, ready to take the lead on their walk out, but Giza didn’t budge and behind her, the roughnecks shifted on their boots making their barricade clear. They were waiting for something.

Giza rocked back and forth on her heels, raising her rounded chin as she considered the three people before her. Her eyes lingered on Kanan before drifting to Hera and finally settling on Zeb.

“Giza, please,” he implored, huge hands reaching out. “You’ve got it all wrong. I can explain everything.”

“I have to approach this as a businesswoman, Zeb. You’re an expense. You cost me a few weeks’ work when you allowed one of my ships to be damaged, which led to the temporary shut-down of the space port. And you cost me my engineer’s Chugo’s arm for the next month. Another loss that’s going to cost me money, time, and opportunities. That makes you a liability, Zeb. An expensive liability. I’m afraid, that at this point I have no choice but to cut my losses.”

As her mouth twisted into a frown, she released a long sigh and looked over her shoulder at Chugo whose rounded fingertips were scratching his holster like the leather had an itch.

“Wait! WAIT!” Zeb shouted raising his hands. “I can make it up to you! I can pay you back!”

She shook her head, resigned. “With what, Zeb? You’ve already drunk away most of your money.”

“No-no, you’re right,” he stumbled on. “I don’t have that much. But, what if…” He searched the room for salvation, edging on panic. His large, yellow-green eyes landed on Kanan and Hera, froze, and glittered. “What if I got you a _new_ ship?” he asked.

“You don’t have that either,” she replied dryly.

“But _they_ do.” Hurriedly, Zeb rambled on. “It’s a VCX. Almost brand new. Fitted with extra turrets and everything. I’ve seen it myself. Now, that’s gotta more than make up for everything, don’t you think?”

The blood dropped into Hera’s feet, leaving her cold before it rushed back into her body and set her on fire. She was about to step forward when Kanan’s hand caught her around the belt. She stopped herself, but just barely.

Giza tilted her chin up again and regarded the Lasat with narrowed eyes. “It might. If what you say is true.”

“It will! It is! I sweat it!”

Her face now tinged by the glint of greed, Giza held Hera and Kanan in her gaze like mice between a cat’s paws.

“Looks like we have more to talk about,” she said and with a nod, Giza’s crew broke their line and surrounded the others, moving them towards the door like banthas. Not surprisingly, the Rodian made his way towards Zeb, still scratching his holster. The big Lasat glanced at Chigo’s belt and then at the bacta pack taped over his left antennae. He chuckled darkly before falling into place with the other salvagers.

Hera shot him a venomous and curled her fists as she reigned in the instinct to draw her single hold-out blaster against seven armed spacers. Next to her, a weighty thug with a thick beard gave Kanan a heavy push towards the door. He stumbled two more steps than usual before catching himself. As he straightened, he looked at Hera. His face was drawn and ashen, but not in the desperate way it had been earlier. The pensive turn to his mouth and the heaviness in his brows confirmed Hera’s fears: the only thing Giza had to talk to them about would come in the form of a blaster bolt to the head.

Deep inside, Hera’s anger flared again in a quick lick of fire. Emotional acts weren’t going to help anyone. It was up to her to get them out of this. They needed to escape, but with Kanan drunk and the two of them outnumbered more than four-to-one, a shootout wasn’t in the cards. They’d have to wait for an opening, maybe in the atrium they could force a brawl and-

“But before we go,” Giza’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Let’s everyone remember to behave on our way to see this VCX. Security is still looking for the Free Ryloth criminals who attacked one of my ships, after all. If we draw too much attention, we’d likely be arrested.” She looked over the white tattoos on Hera’s lekku while straightening her rumpled business suit. “I wonder who’s more likely to come out on top in that situation.”

 

*  *  *

 

The lift hummed its way across the surface of the dead planet. Packed to the walls, most of the passengers busied themselves by staring at the floor or ceiling, depending on their skeletal structure. A few were engaged in quiet conversation. But the group of eleven humans, one Rodian, one Twi’lek, and a Lasat, was stone mute.

Hera leaned against the wall near the window. Outside, the far lights of the minors’ and archaeologists’ tunnels slowly skated by. Baradium sulfate and ancient history; both pulled from the earth; both deadly in the wrong hands. It was a strange time to be thinking about history, but Hera’s tired mind rolled it over anyway, relevant in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. The Lasat. The Jedi. The dead world. Something about them felt connected, like the same gray space dust was laying on all the bodies that could no longer be seen. But she knew they were there. What else was the dust there to cover?

If she hadn’t been working so hard to hide her fatigue, Hera would have rubbed her hands over her face to erase the strange thoughts. As it was, she squeezed her eyes shut and reveled in the blissful–but brief–sting of relief as tears washed over her dry eyes.

On the other side of the lift she glimpsed Kanan between the other passengers, kept separated from her during their trip. He stood with his arms crossed and his head back against the wall. There was a pinch to his face that betrayed another headache. Or was it motion sickness? No matter the case, time was running out. The lift was getting closer to the landing bay and when they arrived Hera had to be ready to put her plan into action. She only hoped Kanan was lucid (and sober) enough to follow her lead.

The lift doors hushed open onto the communal landing bay and the passengers poured onto the stylized duracrete floor Overhead stretched the soaring ceiling with its single entry-way cut in the center. A small Gozanti craft passed smoothly through the magnetic shield, causing a faint blue flicker around its hull.

As the group filed out, Hera took stock of their new formation. Kanan, clearly considered the greater threat despite his inebriation, was in the middle of the pack surrounded by four of Giza’s crew. His blaster, like Hera’s, was now in the hands of the red-haired woman from the cantina, now walking by her side. At the front of the pack, Zeb led the way with Giza close behind. He was working hard not to look nervous, chattering away about something, but as Giza pulled out her com link, the Lasat flicked his ears and rubbed at the back of his neck. Her words were difficult to make out over the hubbub of the landing bay, but Hera knew the quick orders of a captain ordering her ship to be readied when she saw one.

“I thought we were going to their ship,” Zeb ventured once she returned the device to her pocket.

“We are,” Giza replied without looking up. “But I don’t expect to be there long.”

As he lumbered forward on long legs, Zeb half looked over his shoulder, ears turning flat, but he stopped himself before he made eye-contact with either Kanan or Hera. Squeezing his face shut, he turned his attention forward and pressed onward.

In another turn, the _Ghost_ came into view around the side of a bulky light freighter. Its shining hull shone like a star in the night among the other, rougher ships it. Being one of the larger ships in the landing bay, there was relatively low traffic on the pathway and a good forty meters to the next ship. At the sight of it, Hera’s heart punched against her ribs. This was it.

Zeb pulled ahead and gestured at the VCX, forcing a broad smile that fell short of his eyes. “See? What did I tell you?”

Giza said something in reply, but Hera wasn’t listening. She was watching the cockpit bubble. Just as she’s hoped, a worn little droid rolled into sight. As he lifted his mechanical arm in greeting, Hera shook her head minutely. The droid froze and lowered his pincer. Sure that she had Chopper’s full attention, she mouthed two words: _Not welcome._ As the group stopped in front of the closed cargo doors, Chopper rolled slowly out of view.

Waving an arm at the ship, Giza looked to Kanan. “If you would?”

Two of Kanan’s escorts clamped heavy hands on Kanan’s shoulders and pushed him forward. This time he didn’t stumble. Looking up at the familiar gray slant of the closed door, he shrugged. “Sorry, lady,” he said. “You’ve got the wrong ship.”

Giza looked up at Zeb, patience flickering from her from her face.

The Lasat looked from Kanan to Giza and back again. After a moment’s hesitation, he snarled and grabbed the other man by the front of his green tunic. “Open this door!” he growled.

Kanan laughed once. “You think I fly a ship this nice? Are you trying to flatter me? I’m am open-minded guy, but I’m already taken.” Still in Zeb’s claws, he winked and leaned over to Giza. “You’re boy’s playing you,” he said. “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust a word he says, drunk or sober.”

No sooner did Giza signal to the back of the entourage than Hera found herself pushed forward. The red haired woman’s hand on the back of her neck was like a vice. She grit her teeth as she stumbled. As she reached the front of the group, Hera had one chance to warn Kanan. She wasn’t sure how well he could see her face, but she tried anyway. She managed a wink before being jerked to a stop before Giza.

To Zeb’s puzzled face the infamous salvager explained, “Right ship. Wrong owner.”

In a repetition of her earlier gesture, the stocky, deceptively unassuming woman waved her hand at the _Ghost_. “Captain, if you please.”

Head held at a downward angle, a poisonous frown pulled at Hera’s mouth, but she didn’t move or speak.

Giza waited for a ten-count before nodding to the re-haired woman. She shook Hera by the neck, making her brain rattle in her head. “Hurry up, tail-head!” she hissed.

Hera bore her teeth at the insult and lowered her eyes to the floor. “You’re _not welcome_ ,” she bit, and that was all the signal Chopper needed.

_WHOM!_

The floodlights of the _Ghost_ burst on at full luminescence. With a collective shout, the entire group staggered back. All except Hera. Twisting around, she slammed her elbow down into the red-haired woman’s arm, breaking her grip, and followed up with a jab to her kidney. The woman reeled back, snarling in pain as she continued to blink at the bright lights. Hera gave her a healthy shove and watched as she took out one of the other salvage crew in a tangle of arms and legs.

Behind her, the cargo door was already hissing open with exaggerated bursts of compressed air. The fog caught in the floodlights and turned the immediate area into a field of zero-visibility. But Hera didn’t need to see to know where her ship was. And she was hoping that Kanan didn’t, either.

As she made for the door, Hera was surrounded by the sounds of brawling: grunts and shouts and the dull thud of blows connecting.

“Kanan!” she yelled through the haze and was answered by a painful shriek and the thud of a body hitting the deck.

“I’m here!” his voice came, and in another instant he appeared from the mist, tossing Hera her blaster. She caught it expertly and raised it to cover his escape, but in that split second it was already too late. The bearded crewman who had shoved Kanan before appeared from the brightness to wrap his arms around Kanan. With a grunt of effort, he pulled the smaller man off his feet and dragged him back into the miasma.

Hera bounded after him, but then staggered back as another group of brawlers crossed her path. Two of Giza’s thugs clung to Zeb’s arms, working together to bring him to his knees. His clawed feet scratched at the floor leaving long scars as he fought for purchase, but he was soon overpowered. Roaring in fury, he flashed his long fangs as the two men pinned his arms behind his back, forcing his spine into a painful arch as he fought against them. It was then that from the fog a new figure appeared. One arm still in a sling, Chugo drew the blaster from its holster and leveled it at the Lasat’s head. Zeb’s chest rose and fell rapidly. His huge eyes took in the blaster and the person holding it. As his lips trembled in a growing roar, the Rodian smiled cruelly all the way up to his jet black eyes.

_REW-W-W!_

The scent of o-zone reached Hera’s nose even before Chugo’s stunned body hit the ground. She immediately turned her blaster on the two men holding Zeb, disabling them in quick succession. Stunned, they dropped to the floor. Finally, she leveled her weapon at the Lasat. Now on his hands and knees, he looked at Hera in utter bewilderment. He labored for breath, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

“Why?” he grunted.

Hera answered with a pinched faced of mixed pride and resentment. Where he was an empty shell of self-preservation, she was filled with purpose. And he knew it.

By now the fog was dispersing and the door to the cargo hold stood open to the floor. Blaster at the ready, Hera backed towards it. She let off three stun shots as more of Giza’s people regained their sight and senses and made a rush for the door. Two of them retreated while a third hit the deck, disabled. A quick sweep of the area showed that Giza herself was nowhere to be seen.

To the side, Kanan was engaged in a full-bodied grapple with the bearded giant. His legs were wrapped around the man’s torso as he struggled to put the larger man’s arm in a lock. The larger man's face was turning purple, but it would take too long to choke him out and they needed to leave now.

“Get him!” she ordered Zeb as she backed towards the lowered ramp. Behind her came familiar binary over the internal com. “We’re taking off,” she shouted over her shoulder. “I don’t care if we don’t have clearance!”

Just then a blue bolt bounced off the hull with a spray of sparks. Hera ducked into a crouch as a contingent of white-faced beings fanned out around her position. Polis Massa Security had finally arrived.

“Time to go!” she yelled, hoping her voice would carry over the growing din of chaos. Hera ducked a series of stun bolts as another spray of fog disgorged from the _Ghost_. Through the bright air, she could make out the shape of Zeb laying powerful punches into Kanan’s opponent. The large human went limp and Zeb pulled Kanan to his feet, dragging him towards the ship. A stun bolt bounced off the ground, making them both dodge to the side as they ran full tilt.

It was now or never.

Hera dashed into the _Ghost,_ flying up the ladder and into the pilot’s seat. Chopper chirped behind her at the tactical station. “Raise the ramp as soon as they’re clear,” she said flipping switches madly. “We’re getting out of here.”

As she punched the repulsors, the landing gear retraced with a whine. The _Ghost_ shifted as it switched from parking to flight mode. Chopper chattered again. The ramp was up.

Face grim and set, Hera pulled on the yoke. Her ship soared into the air amid a flurry of blasterfire from the security forces below. But they weren’t worth worrying about. It was the entry tunnel that had Hera concerned.

Arching around the wide open air above the docked ships, she circled in on the single access port.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Zeb’s wide feet banged against the deck of the cockpit as he came up to the viewport. “You don’t know if someone else is in there! We could hit them head on!”

“But we won’t,” Hera said confidently and pointed across the landing bay. “We’ll be tagging along with them.”

Zeb sidled into the space between the two forward seats and gawked at the ship making its way for the exit.

“Karabast,” he swore. “That’s one of Giza’s ships.”

“Of course it is." Hera hit the switch to cut the floodlights. It wouldn’t do to blind the other pilot in the maneuver she was about to attempt.

The ship ahead of them was an SVS-900, older than the _Ghost_ and with the signs of hard use befitting a craft that spent its time in debris fields. It sped towards the entryway, exceeding the legal speeds for the enclosed airspace. Hera punched the throttle to catch up. They weren’t going to get stuck on Polis Massa. They had already over-stayed what little welcome they’d had on this rock and it was time to leave.

The com crackled and a frustratingly level, digitized voice traveled over the open channel. _“Attention light freighters_ Expedient II _and_ Opportunity _. You are ordered to return immediately by the authority of Polis Massa Security. Reduce the speed of your vessels and return to your designated docks in Polis Massa landing bay.”_

Ahead of her, _Opportunity_ barreled for the passageway in the ceiling and Hera raced to close the distance like two rabbits making for the same hole.

Zeb gawked. “Are you crazy? We can’t fit in there at the same time!”

“We can and we will.” Hera leaned on the control yoke. The SVS slowed at the bottom of the tunnel and kicked its repulsors into high gear, levitating the ship up through the magnetic field in a vertical ascent. Hera didn’t bother to reorient according to protocol and lanced into the tunnel behind it nose first.

The view shifted suddenly from the wide-open expanse of the subterranean landing area to the access tunnel’s narrow confines. Bands of golden light zipped from top to bottom as the _Ghost_ caught up with Giza’s ship. Hera carefully closed the distance until the moniker “ _Opportunity_ ” was clearly visible on the ship’s underside. The proximity sensors blinked in a panicked rage. It was a risky maneuver, but it was also their best shot. Polis Massa would never risk closing off their only access tunnel with two ships inside; at these speeds, costly damage was nearly a guarantee. The only way to avoid an accident was to let the ships fly right through and try to catch them on the other side.

Keeping her eyes and nerves steady, Hera studied the underbelly of the ship. Carbon scoring from battles or metal-cutting torches (she couldn’t tell which) crisscrossed its dull gray hull, interrupted by a few greasy handprints, probably from the other pilot on a walk-around. Hera’s mouth quirked in a smile as she thought of what the other pilot must be thinking. Hands glued to the yoke, eyes wide, sweat beading on the forehead, the pilot would play it safe and maintain speed all the way until they broke into open space and then make a vertical run. It’s what she would do in the same situation and she was counting on him to do exactly that.

 _“Attention light freighters_ Expedient II _and_ Opportunity _. You are ordered to return immediately by the authority of Polis Massa Security…”_ the digital voice buzzed over the com again. Hera rolled her eyes.

Long seconds passed as the tunnel’s guidance lights flickered by. Zeb made uncertain noises, eyes wide and mouth clamped shut. His left hand was gripped firmly onto Hera’s headrest, unable to move away.

In another blink the two ships exploded into open space causing a shiver of relief to run through Hera’s body. It took the endless expanse of the Great Black to make her realize how cooped up she’d felt underground. Here, she was free. Here, she could do anything.

As soon as they got out of this asteroid field and away from Polis Massa, that was.

“Giza’s ship is moving away,” she said watching the vessel speed into a vertical run just as she’d predicted. She banked the _Ghost_ starboard towards the traffic lanes and the hyperspace lane beyond. The other ships in the area were already clearing away, doubtlessly warned over the open channel of a renegade ship making risky maneuvers. Hera didn’t mind one bit. To her, it simply meant more room to get out.

 _“Attention light freighter_ Expedient II _. You are ordered to return immediately by the authority of Polis Massa Security. Repeat: return immediately for criminal prosecution.”_

Hera allowed herself a laugh. Yeah, she’d get right on that.

Adjusting the scanners to compensate for the over-saturation from the surrounding asteroids, she said, “Kanan, plot a course out of the asteroid field. The faster the better. I don’t know what kind of ships they might be sending after us.”

But nothing happened.

Hera turned in her chair, making Zeb stagger back. “Kanan?” she asked, looking around.

The Lasat’s mouth hung half open as he struggled to form a coherent sentence. “He was right behind me.”

Hera’s insides had the distinct feeling of turning into stones. They scraped together as she took in her next breath and ground out her next words. “You didn’t see him get on the ship?” she asked.

Zeb’s great paw worried at the back of his neck.  His ears were flat and his wide mouth was limp. “Like I said, he was right behind me, but I couldn’t see anything, I-”

Hera was out of her chair and racing down the ladder, the stones building in her legs making it difficult to move. She only had to go half way before she could see that the cargo hold was empty, then she was back up in another second, storming down the length of the ship. “Kanan?” she called, opening the door to the fresher and not caring what she could have seen. “Kanan?” she called again up the ladder to the phantom and again into his empty cabin.

Closing the door with a soft whoosh, she turned back to the cockpit. Her eyes were glazed over, her mind running so quickly that it was numb. But as she pulled her gaze up from the floor, they fell on a C1 unit looking suspiciously busy as he ran a ship’s diagnostic in the middle of a getaway.

The grinding stones inside of Hera rasped and shifted, settling in her stomach. “Chopper?” she said taking a step forward. “Chopper, where’s Kanan?”

The astromech burbled something about sensor recalibration and twisted his control arm.

“Chopper,” she said more strongly. _“Answer me!”_

Still at the front of the cockpit, Zeb flinched, but Chopper only retracted his arm and calmly turned his dome in her direction.

_“Hhrr-mrr-wop-meep-wop.”_

“He didn’t make it?” she repeated, feeling the stones shift their jagged edges against her lungs.

“ _Err-err-mop-wop. Mrr-berr-beep. Mrrrrmmm…”_

The rocks shook in her like an avalanche. It must have shown on her face because Zeb asked, “What? What happened?”

“He was stunned,” she said. Her voice felt detached and dusty. “Chopper closed the cargo doors as soon as you were on board.”

Zeb’s eyes flicked between Chopper idly rotating his dome back and forth and Hera struggling to keep the rocks from filling up her lungs and suffocating her. “Then where is he?” he asked.

The droid looked away, as if in thought.

“Answer him, Chop!” her voice popped out, sharp as flint against the close walls of the _Ghost_.

Chopper shifted his struts, grumbling in binary punctuated by isolated outbursts. When he was finished, Hera’s eyes were closed as tightly as her fists. The jagged rocks were up to her throat now. All she could see was Kanan’s face as it had looked when she left him at that lift hours ago: desperate, spent, unsure… scared, and waiting for her.

Why didn’t he wait? Why didn’t he wait for her?

“Eh, em, what did he say?” Zeb’s voice interrupted the thoughts, but couldn’t erase them.

“The Polis Massans have him,” she said and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “They have Kanan.”

Several moments passed as the situation settled on the _Ghost_ until Zeb broke the silence again. “Hey,” he said, pointing out the viewport. “Something’s happening out there.”

Rocks still weighing down her limbs and organs, Hera pushed past Chopper and Zeb to her seat. He was right, on the port bow, _Opportunity_ was doing an about-face. It was returning to port.

Hera squinted at the battered ship as it reentered the tunnel. “Why would they do that?” she asked.

“It’s Giza,” Zeb said bracing his weight against the top console as he leaned forward to get a better view. “She’s keeping up appearances, being a good businesswoman. She’ll follow the flight controller’s orders now, but you can bet she’ll have bribed and blackmailed her way back out in a few hours. If she doesn’t just pin everything on us, that is.”

“What?” Hera was struggling to listen to Zeb’s assessment. She knew it was important–knew that it mattered–but, all she could think of was Kanan’s face and the fact that he wasn’t on the _Ghost_. He was still down there, on the dead planet he had called a tomb, the one that made him blanch and sweat. Her focus returned when Zeb said:

“–and if she convinces them of that, they might even hand him over.”

“To who?” Hera trapped the towering Lasat in her gaze, forbidding him to look away.

Zeb regarded her with flat-eared sorrow. “To Giza,” she said. “She’s got a lot of pull. That’s how she gets out of everything. If they think he’s involved in that attack on her ship–the one Free Ryloth pulled–they might hand him over to her.”

“Why would they do that?”

Zeb made a face and sighed. “It’s one of the ways Giza stays in the authorities' good graces and makes money on the side. She’s a registered extradition transport.”

“So she would be extraditing him to…”

Zeb shrugged hopelessly. “Who knows best how to deal with terrorists?” he asked and Hera answered.

“The Empire."


	11. The Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan struggles against the crushing power of Polis Massa and the realization that he's been left behind.

Kanan could have struggled against the Polis Massans more, but there was no point. What he didn’t know were all the reasons why.

It was the pain of their voices that woke him up. Even though this wasn’t the first time he’d been stunned (or even the fifth), it still took a few minutes to get back to lucidity. As he was dragged from the landing platform Kanan twisted around enough to see the empty space where the _Ghost_ had been. The fuzziness in his head cleared. He recalled running towards the ramp. Zeb had been ahead of him while the orange blur of Hera’s legs disappeared into the cockpit. As Kanan had sprinted for the _Ghost_ , blaster fire had forced him to dance to the side or risk losing a foot. That was when the ship’s repulsors had kicked on, the cargo door had snapped shut, and Kanan’s escape had taken flight. A second later, an unmistakable searing sensation had shocked his body into unconsciousness. By the look of things, that had been less than five minutes ago.

Polis Massa security pulled Kanan upright and slapped binders on his wrists. They were asking him questions and prattling to each other, but he wasn’t listening. Nothing they had to say was as important as the fact that Hera had left him. Even as he thought it, his mind rejected the idea. She wouldn’t leave him behind–would she? Sure, she’d been mad at him at the cantina (okay, she’d been more than mad), but she wasn’t the kind of person who left a crewmember taking fire while she saved her own hide. Hera wasn’t some heartless, robotic sadist like-

The realization dawned on Kanan like a black sunrise. He played back the scene in his mind of Zeb leaping into the cargo hold as Hera climbed into the cockpit. She would have gone straight for the control yoke, which left only one person to man the ramp.

The growl in Kanan’s throat quickly crescendoed into a roar. “ _Chopper!!!_ ”

The egg-faced security guards pulling Kanan along paused, ready for him to make a break for it. But when he didn’t move or respond to their tinny questions, they resumed hustling him along towards the lift. Kanan let his boots scrape against the octagonal patterned floors. He was seeing too much red to care where he was going–and he had a pretty good idea of that, anyway. Unheard by anyone else, his internal voice was saying three things at the same time:

One. _Of course it was Chopper._

Two. _I’ll rip the motivator out of that back-stabbing scrap-heap!_

Three. _There’s no way they can come back for me._

The disgusted fury sweeping through Kanan was so swift that his only recourse was to push it aside. He didn’t have time to deal with it now, but he’d revisit it later. And do something about it. That was a promise. But for now, Polis Massa security was pushing him into the lift and warning curious on-lookers away from the doors. The crowd backed away, several tense-looking Twi’leks among them. At the sight of lekku, Kanan’s eyes flashed searching for the familiar pale green with white markings. But these Twi’leks were yellow-brown, pink, and dark jade. They weren’t who he was looking for, and from the disappointed expressions on their faces, he wasn’t who they were hoping to see, either.

The lift doors slid shut. This time the ride was only a few minutes long, as the traveling box stopped at Waystation Dome, the administrative hub between the landing bay and the colony. Hera’d been taken here for questioning about four hours ago when all this mess had started. Kanan scrunched up his face. He should have waited for her. If he had, they’d probably be on the _Ghost_ right now ripping eachother’s clothes off. It was an option infinitely preferable to being marched into a detention block. Actually, it was an option infinitely preferable to most things.

Surprisingly strong, the long-fingered hands of the Kallidahins guided him through curving, silver hallways. There was more psychic chatter here that pulled at Kanan’s teeth. Unconsciously, he strained against the guards’ grips, but the female only clamped down harder while the two escorts in front and behind him fingered the safeties on their blasters. Mind sluggish, Kanan tried to remember what he would have said or done in this kind of situation six months ago. He flashed a tired, but devilish smile at the security officer.

“Not so rough, lady. We only just met!” he said.

The guard’s blank, tiny eyes didn’t even blink, not that Kanan was sure they could. Attention forward, her pace stayed in synch with the male guard to his left who tightened his grip to match. Were they coordinating telepathically on a frequency he couldn’t hear? That would suit him just fine. He was tired of the hollow, metallic echo of their monotonous voices stomping around in his head-like an army of wind-up robots with durasteel boots.

With the turn of another corner, an arched doorway appeared before them guarded by a Kallidahin almost tall enough to look Kanan in the eye. He glided to the side, gripping his heavy blaster as this next door slid open. Kanan was shuffled into a new part of the station–one with a distinctly different feeling from the rest. If descending into Polis Massa’s landing bay had been like entering a tomb, stepping into the detention block was like falling headfirst into an empty grave, one with the headstone still waiting for a name. The fragile, sardonic smile on Kanan’s face cracked and with each step deeper into the asteroid’s jail, it crumbled, revealing a hollow horror underneath.

The detention block had only six doors, three on the right and three on the left; the narrow space between them was watched by two more guards, still and soundless as tombstones themselves. When the last door on the left slid open, Kanan’s boots started scuffing against the floor again. He dug in his heels, leaning away from the opening. But his faceless captors pushed him forward until their long fingers gave him over to the waiting grave. The windowless door whispered closed behind him like a final breath.

The cell was dim, but not dark. It was little more than a three meter cube with an indention in one wall for prisoners to relieve themselves in. From the sterile smell threaded through in the air, it hadn’t been used in a long time.

Kanan paced to the far side, turned, and paced back. The space was barely three steps across. Barely enough to move. Barely enough to breathe. He ran his bound hands over his head, turned and did it again.

Had his lungs shrunk inside his ribcage, or was it his ribs that were closing in on his lungs? Hissing through clenched teeth, his breathing was shallow and uneven. And all the while the hollow void of Polis Massa was gaping wider and wider beneath his feet. He paced to keep himself from falling in. Back and forth, hands straining at the binders, trying to cross and uncross over his chest. With his mind he clawed at the edges of the open grave, trying to climb out. But the dirt gave under his fingers and sent him sliding farther down the pit. As his mind tumbled, Kanan cynically thought that there wasn’t enough booze in the entire station to stave off what was coming for him now.

The hollow void of Polis Massa, the long dead world, expanded and deepened around him. Kanan had to look at the metal floor to make sure it was still there. Afraid that he would lose his balance, he backed into the corner only to jerk away. It was cold. Cold enough to burn. But it was impossible that the wall could be so cold and the cell still be livable. Teeth clenched and heart pounding, he reached out a bound hand. Immediately, instinct made him jerk it back. But looking at his fingertips there was no evidence of injury. Kanan’s heavy eyebrows pulled together. Whatever was happening was all in his head. Just like the sounds of the marching boots and-

 _“Please! Don’t kill me!”_ the room screamed.

Kanan staggered, bumping in to the freezing wall and pulling away with a hiss. The tramp of marching boots roared up until he slammed his fingertips against his ears. Then, as suddenly as it started, the clamor vanished, leaving him in the middle of the cramped cell shoulders hunched and head throbbing. He coughed as the smell of blood filled his nose. Cautiously, he pulled away his hands from his ears, only to let in a new sound.

Soft sobs came from the young Mirialan woman sitting cross-legged in the corner by the door. Her shoulders rose and fell in jerky motions. She shivered. Her dark brown robes were stiff with drying blood.

Kanan hesitated. Part of him wanted to crouch by her side and check her injury. The other part screamed white wordlessness for him to run.

With a great sob, the woman lifted her hand to her face half-hidden beneath the hood. Her hand came away wet with tears while her face came away red with blood. She drew in as deep a breath as she could before settling her diamond-tattooed hands on her knees. A long, labored exhale steadied her, though she still slouched to the right where her wound was bleeding anew. Throat dry, she gulped back the thickness on her tongue.

 _“There is-”_ She stuttered, shivered, and tried again. _“There is no emotion, there is peace.”_

As if he’d been slapped in the face, Kanan took a step back. “No,” he whispered, but the apparition went on.

_“There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”_

He shook his head. Old memories assaulted him: images of a brightly lit room filled with younglings and teachers of every species. “Stop,” he said.

_“There is no passion, there is serenity.”_

His heart clenched up, threatening to crush in on itself. His memory shifted from face to face until it settled on a warm-skinned woman with golden piercings. “Wait!”

_“There is no chaos, there is harmony.”_

He shouted at the words he’d had to cut out of his life to save it. _“Don’t!”_ he cried.

_“There is no death, there is the Force.”_

After three long, labored breaths, the Mirialan returned to shaking. Her head dipped and her body twitched. With a shout of pain her hands flew to her wound. Weeping as she collapsed in on herself, the doomed Padawan asked the same question Kanan had been asking for ten years.

_“…why?”_

There was no question who she was addressing. But the Force was loath to answer anyone, least of all Padawans alone in the darkness. Kanan knew this for a fact.

Like an express shuttle, the hollowness slammed into him again, stronger than ever. Kanan buckled and dropped to one knee. He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. The headache was barely definable by the word. It was a skullache. A nerveache. The raw bone behind his eyes was being scraped away by invisible fingernails that he couldn’t stop.

As he opened and closed his jaw, Kanan’s legs finished collapsing under him, landing him on all fours, wrists chafing against the binders. He panted, face to the floor. Only a few meters away, the Mirialan Padawan’s crying had grown quieter, not that he could hear it clearly through the hollow roar of pain. Nevertheless, he was aware of the steady slowing of her breathing. Each ragged breath was shallower than the last. She slumped against the wall, collapsed in on her injured side. Her left hand was pressed against the wound on her hip while the right remained on her knee. Her coarsely woven hood shadowed all but her mouth. Before Kanan’s eyes, her lips ceased to tremble and seemed to shrink in on themselves. With a long hiss of air, she finished out her life in pain, cold and alone.

The universe tilted sideways around Kanan. The emptiness that had surrounded him was now within him, hollowing him out. Any second, his chest would give and there would be no barrier between him and the vast nothingness that swallowed Polis Massa.

“Prisoner.”

Reeling, Kanan struggled to focus his eyes. The cell door was open and a tall Kallidahin with a blaster was standing on the other side. He tilted his head to the right, switching the safety from on to off before stepping forward. Blank eyes locked on the prone figure on the floor, he gripped the blaster rifle to his shoulder, but kept the barrel down.

“…have every right to face my attacker,” a voice clipped as another guard entered the cramped cell. A stout, greasy woman followed, stopping just inside the door. Giza’s shrewd eyes narrowed on Kanan. After a moment she leaned towards the guard who had brought her in. “Why is he down there?” she asked and then turned her words on him. “Why are you down there? Is this another trick? Get up.”

Both of the guards had their blaster rifles on him now, but Kanan didn’t have the ability to care very much and didn’t move.

“Stand up,” one of the guards ordered telepathically.

Kanan winced and covered his head like he’d been struck, which–to his poor brain–it certainly felt like.

Giza’s nose crinkled. “What is this charade? Stand up so I can see you.”

For once in his life, Kanan had nothing to say, but he did have a disgusted and pained sneer which he made sure Giza saw.

At some unseen signal, the first guard lowered his blaster and man-handled Kanan to his feet. He stumbled back to the wall where the Kallidahin guard propped him up with one long arm. Kanan hissed at the cold. His bleary eyes lingered on the guard’s elbow. It looked easy to break.

Giza didn’t advance any farther, but considered Kanan with the eyes of a snake. After taking him in from boot to head she nodded. “That’s him. He’s one of the ones who ambushed us.”

The tall guard leaned on Kanan’s shoulder. “Where are your companions?” his voice tinned. Kanan growled and moved to shove him away, but the whine of the second guard’s blaster charging to a higher energy level stayed his hands. “You will certainly be incarcerated for assault, endangerment of lives, and affiliation with a terrorist organization due to your involvement in the attack on custom broker Nebiwotz’s subsidiary vessel. Your cooperation in the identification and apprehension of other persons who were directly and indirectly involved in the attack and its planning may result in a more beneficial state of leniency when you are sentence-”

_“Shut up!”_

Kanan didn’t go for the guard’s elbow, but pushed him away with his bound hands. A blaster bolt seared the wall next to his ear, making him duck out of the way. If he hadn’t of been on the verge of mental collapse he might have used the moment of chaos to make a break for it. Instead, he crouched down, showing his palms and breathing in the acrid scent of ozone. Just then, the hollow hell pressed in on him again and he had to work to keep his eyes on the two security personnel now in a very good position to kill him.

The cell quieted as the both Kanan and the guard regained their feet. The latter kept his blaster on Kanan, but this time made sure to stand out of his reach. Giza had placed herself behind the taller guard by the door.

“The prisoner has declined to cooperate,” the second guard said evenly. “Do you still wish to engage in an extradition transport contract?”

Giza nodded, even though neither of the Kallidahins were looking at her. “Yes,” she said firmly. “It’s my duty.”

The guard’s head tilted left in assent. “Processing of the official transfer orders for extradition will begin immediately. Please accompany me to the main offices where the necessary regulations can be completed.”

Kanan’s knees shook. The room swam before his eyes. “Ex…tradition…” he managed to get out.

Giza stopped halfway through the door, flanked on either side by the guards. “To the swift justice you deserve,” she said with a satisfied sniff. “In Imperial space.”

Floor gaping beneath him, emptiness gaping inside him, skull scraping within him, Kanan could do nothing but watch as the guards backed out of the door with their blasters leveled until the cell door hushed closed again. All around, the walls of the cell warped, buckling in and out. Kanan’s knees buckled with them and he slid to the floor where he sat with one leg out in front and the other pulled up so his forehead could rest against it. He was breathing heavily and sweating despite the cold of the wall slowly searing into his skin. Slowly, he curled forward to pull away from it. The psychosomatic pain was a constant now, throbbing through the primordial goo that made up his very being as it ate straight through him.

Somewhere under the pain and the noise, Kanan’s tactical mind hummed. He had prepared for this a long time ago: what to do if he was ever captured. Imperial prisons were bad enough (labor camps and isolated spires, mostly), but that wasn’t what worried him. It was the bio scan that all prisoners went through when they were taken into custody. Not only did they create a DNA record along with his name, face, and voice imprint, but–if the Imperials were doing their jobs–they would check it against other Imperial records to search for past convictions, outstanding warrants for arrest, and warrants for death.

Kanan didn’t know what information the Empire might have on him from the old Jedi Temple, but he did know he’d been able to avoid getting matched to it up until now. And he had done so by staying out of the Empire’s way and never getting incarcerated for anything more than a drunken brawl or public urination–things no Imperial would bother taking a bio scan for, much less doing a full check against the criminal records. But assault? Terrorism? He would be tagged and processed within fifteen minutes of boarding an Imperial transport. It would only take another fifteen minutes to put his data in the system, and then it was only a matter of time before a match came up with the death warrant for a dumb, little wannabe Jedi named Caleb Dume.

Kanan drank in the air, still laced with the scorch of the blaster. His fist closed in around itself. He wasn’t going to die like Master Billaba or Master Plo Koon or the poor, nameless Padawan who had bled out in this very cell. Whatever it took to get out, that was what he was going to do. He would follow his plan, avoid detection, run, disappear, and–

His labored breath caught in his throat. _Hera._ Running meant leaving her behind. Or could he find her again out there in the galaxy? It’d be safer not to. It’d be safer to fade away and forget, like he always did. But… she was the one good thing that had happened to him in all his years of running. With her he’d felt more alive than he’d felt in… he couldn’t even remember. And it wasn’t just because he was madly in love with her. It was something else, too, something he made a point of ignoring as much as possible. But now, with the universe falling away around him and his insides scraped raw, there was nothing left to protect him from the truth.

_Run. Survive. That’s all I ever do: save myself._

With a feeble pulse of his tired heart, he admitted another truth. _Then I might as well die._

With the next, he confessed another. _I don’t want to die._

And with the next, he exhaled yet more. _I have to make my life worth something._

Next. _How can I be worth anything when all I do is run?_

_Stop running._

_There is no death, there is the Force._

The floor became as frozen as the vacuum of space and the universe yawned, an open grave ready to snap shut. It was time for him to fall.

“NO!” Kanan pushed back, but the emptiness did not recede.

“NO!” He pushed again and this time it was as if his hands had brushed against the sides of the closing walls, but they did not stop.

He looked again at the Mirialan, one hand clutched to her mortal wound, the other perched in meditation. In her final repose she had captured the last words of the Jedi Code: death and the Force. Well, if death was coming for him now, there was still one last hope for balance, the one thing he hadn’t tried yet.

Kanan closed his eyes and sank into the Force for the first time in a decade. Sure, there had been moments when he’d reached out for it, moments when it had popped up to save his life or another’s. But in those rare instances it had been nothing more than a tool, a thing he had picked up and then put right back down again. This time was different. He opened himself and let it into the hollow void that Polis Massa had scraped from his insides. The Force rushed in, as foreign as it was familiar. It was a wellspring inside of him, one that had been there with every day and every breath, despite the rock that Kanan had rolled over it to survive. Now, he was rolling that rock away to survive again.

The colony stretched out around him. A web of glimmering threads pulsing with life crisscrossed through the duracrete and plasteel, unconcerned with physical boundaries. The Kallidahins were there. So was Giza. And the spacers in the landing bay. The Ugnaughts and the bar keeper. Throughout the broken asteroid he saw faded strands: the dead history of the planet Polis Massa had once been. Fossilized bodies deep in the stone waited to tell their sad stories. There were two more faded strands caught up with the others. One he recognized immediately: the Padawan who had died here in the Purge. But the other was different, weaker. Kanan reached out to it in the Force and was overcome by sadness and despair. He thought he’d known what hopelessness was, but now he saw that knew nothing. The faded thread belonged to a mother. In her last moments she’d given up on everything. She’d given up on life and love and hope. She’d run away, really and truly, in a way that made Kanan’s years of wandering look like a heroic act. With her death, her sadness had become caught up with the dead world, just like the Padawan’s had.

Kanan left the faded thread behind and let his awareness travel farther out away from Polis Massa into the asteroid-pocked space beyond. Ships were there waiting and circling. There was a patrol, too, searching… searching… there! In the asteroid field in the shadow of an enormous, stagnant rock sat the _Ghost_. It was powered down to mask its signature, but was aglow in the Force. Hera’s thread pulsed strong and familiar. It throbbed with anxiety, anger, and determination. Patience was there, too, but it was strained. As the patrol ships approached she tensed, and as they moved on she relaxed again, if only slightly.

In the vastness of the Force, Kanan’s heart warmed. Survival no longer meant running away from the Empire; it meant running towards Hera.

As Kanan sat in meditation, he allowed the Force move in him, and breath by breath the cold, gaping tomb of Polis Massa receded. It would never disappear. Scars on the Force never fully healed, just like scars on a life. There was no half-living in the past. It was either all you were or completely forgotten. Or so he had thought.

Breathing in the first deep breath he’d taken in two days, Kanan’s mouth pulled up in a smirk. Actually, he _was_ going to run, just not in a way the Jedi had ever taught him.


	12. Dominoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera dodges threats from all sides as she moves forward with her plan to get Kanan back.

 

_Two hours and forty-five minutes ago._

“It’s one of the ways Giza makes money on the side,” Zeb rumbled. “She’s a registered extradition transport.”

Hera’s right lek itched. “So she would be extraditing him to…”

The Lasat shrugged. “Who knows best how to deal with terrorists?”

“The Empire,” she said. She didn’t blink as a new wave of anxiety poured into her, filling the gaps between the stones with immovable sand. Then, her thin eyebrows pulled together with a new thought. “Would she kill him?” she asked.

“Not if he’s worth enough.” Zeb’s large eyes flicked to her and away, then flicked to her again. “Is he?” he asked.

Hera was so still she didn’t feel her face move when she answered, “Depends on who you ask.”

Zeb made a long face. “That’ll be enough for her,” he said.

Hera’s eyes drifted down as wordless thoughts put themselves together in her churning mind one by one. Her hands curled themselves around the familiarity of the control yoke. “Then there’s a chance,” she whispered and the _Ghost_ hummed loudly as she hit the thrusters.

“Wait. Where are you going? The hyperspace lanes are that way.” He pointed behind them.

Ignoring Zeb, she pressed on towards the shimmering cloud of asteroids. Chopper beeped something dubious, but it wasn’t loud enough for her to hear and she didn’t care to listen to it anyway. With a blur of activity, her hands flew over the controls, scanning the asteroid field. If what Zeb said was true, Kanan would eventually be extradited; all she ahd to do was wait. Then she could… what? Planning was Kanan’s forte, not hers. Looking back on her career as a spy, Hera had to admit that she was more of the sneak-around-and-sabotage type, not the play-a-mark-in-an-elaborate-deception type, like Kanan. But she had the beginning of an idea. After that, she’d have to get a little more creative.

As the clusters of rubble grew closer, Zeb dropped to all fours and watched Polis Massa shrink away though the extended viewport of the nose gun under their feet. “What are you doing?” he demanded again.

Face set into a stony frown, she said, “Finding a place to hide. Giza’s got to come out sometime.”

Zeb’s head snapped up, inches from her own now that he was on all fours. “Are you crazy, lady? You can’t seriously be thinking about trying to-”

“I am!” she barked, lekku flying as she went nose-to-nose with the Lasat. “If there’s a chance to get Kanan back, I’m going to take it.”

Zeb was all fangs and flashing eyes as he roared. “No way! I’ve seen what that woman can do. I’m not going up against that. Not when I have a chance to escape. If you want to go after her, go on your own, but count me out of it!”

The shifting stones that made up Hera’s body burst into a cold fire. She looked Zeb in the eyes, the last survivor of a massacred species–and not the only one she knew. “I am doing this with or without you,” she said. “If it’s _with you_ , you might have a chance to be something more than a washed out, drunken scavenger. But if it’s _without_ _you_ , you’d better not get in my way or I’ll push you out an airlock so fast you won’t have time for any last words.”

The retaliatory snarl in Zeb’s throat evaporated, leaving his mouth empty of air and words. While gulping for something to say, he looked to Chopper. The droid signaled an affirmation. Hera Syndulla was a woman of her word. Zeb’s ears flicked nervously while he came to a decision. It wasn’t the one Hera had been hoping for.

Jumping to his feet, Zeb hooked a huge paw around Hera’s collar and tore her out of the pilot’s chair. Tumbling backwards, she slammed into Chopper, knocking them both to the floor. Before she could draw the blaster tucked into her belt, Zeb ripped it away and sent it clattering down the empty corridor.

 _“Whhaa-hhhrrr!!!”_ Blue sparks singed the air as Chopper’s electro-shock prod sprung out of his casing. But Zeb moved quickly and shoved it back in with an enormous foot. The Lasat leaned his weight on the over-turned droid and picked Hera off the floor with one hand. Her shoulder screamed in pain where his claws dug into her skin and her voice joined it. She lashed out, kicking, but his arm was too long. She couldn’t reach.

Green eyes wild and wide, Zeb’s gaze shifted to the open hatch to the cargo hold below. Hera thrashed again, pounding at his lock-tight wrist with her fists. As he angled her towards the ten meter drop, Zeb’s shoulder exploded. With a startled yell, he dropped Hera and reeled around, hands flying to where the blaster bolt had grazed his armor.

Hera scrambled away towards the corridor and the figure that had appeared there. Before she saw the face, she saw the second blaster holstered at her savior’s side. She drew it, and together the two leveled their weapons on the growling Lasat.

“You hurt her. I hurt you.” Talik’s voice was as steady as her hand, now trained on Zeb’s head.

He pulled his fingers from his smoldering shoulder and risked a look behind him to where the bolt had scorched part of the viewport.

“Karabast! You’ll kill us all!”

Talik didn’t waver as she answered. “It’s a Blurrg-1120 and this is a VCX-100. The only thing in danger is you.”

Zeb snarled again, bearing sharp, shining fangs. With renewed fury he scooped Chopper from the floor, one hand on the droid’s dome and the other locked around his undercarriage. The battered metal casing shook violently as a cornucopia of arms and accessories exploded from his body, all of them too short to reach his assailant.

“He’s going to take the cockpit!” Hera growled and gripped the blaster futilely. She didn’t have a clear shot of Zeb and she wasn’t willing to shoot through Chopper.

Next to her, Talik had a different idea and sent a bolt into the floor. The Lasat jumped back half a step and then rushed forward. Zeb split the air with a battle cry that soon morphed into a horrified yelp. Chopper fired his rocket in a short blast, less than half a second, but that was all it took to scorch the fur from Zeb’s fingers.

With a teeth-jarring clang, Chopper was tossed aside, bouncing off one of the tactical chairs and slamming into the floor. Behind him, Zeb danced a circle and wrapped his good hand around the wrist of his burned one. “Karabast” was the least of things he had to say.

Talik didn’t miss a second. She toggled a switch on the side of the Blurrg. Two shots followed and the pulse of blue rings found their bull’s-eye in Zeb’s chest. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he teetered to one side and then the other before crumpling to the floor, limbs flopping up like limp tentacles.

Hera knew what she had to do. No sooner had Zeb hit the floor, than she turned her blaster on Talik. But Talik was already turning her blaster on Hera. The two women frowned at eachother over their weapons, deadlocked in the corridor’s close walls.

Spewing a cacophony of bangs and groans, Chopper righted himself onto his struts. With all his arms still sticking out, he looked like a utility knife gone wrong. As he popped them back into place, his dome turned a full 360 degrees before it settled. His photoreceptors refocused on the scene, taking in the disabled Lasat before settling on Hera and Talik, each one’s blaster inches from the other’s throat.

 _“Wop. Wop-w-”_ he groaned darkly and inched forward.

“Call off your droid.” Talik’s eyes never wavered as she spoke, but Hera’s narrowed, tightening like the tips of her lekku.

“Stand down, Chop,” she ordered with a frown.

The droid cut his motor, but let himself roll to a stop, gaining a few more inches than if he’d used the break. He growled again. _“Gww…b-b-b-b-rrrrr…”_

Hera couldn’t answer him, so Talik spoke instead. “Don’t worry, little one. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Hera bit. “What are you doing here? How did you get on board?”

“I’m sure you heard about the explosion?” Despite the weapon inches from her face, she smiled wryly.

“Security came looking for me,” Hera said. Her mind flashed back to the moment everything had started going wrong: when the white-faced Kallidahins had escorted her away from Kanan, begging her not to go. Hera’s heart tugged, but she couldn’t deal with those feelings right now. “I told them I’d cooperate.”

“I expected no less.” Talik smiled again, waiting.

Hera’s eyes narrowed further. Her voice carried a special venom. “You were planning to sneak onto my ship all along,” she said. “How did you get on without Chopper noticing?”

“Lower your blaster and at the end of all this, I’ll tell you.” Talik’s sly confidence made Hera’s stomach boil.

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Talik didn’t move, but Chopper rumbled on his struts and chattered in binary.

“It’s the proximity alarm,” Hera translated. “We’ve reached the edge of the asteroid field. We have less than a minute to change course before we’re space dust.”

Talik’s cobalt-blue skin glowed in the shimmering silver light reflected by the mammoth boulders quickly filling the viewport. “What’s your plan?” she asked, and Hera knew she didn’t mean how she was going to avoid the asteroids.

Hera’s mouth twisted as her mind raced, but there was nothing there but the truth and she didn’t have time to make up anything else. “My plan is to find a place to hide and come up with a plan,” she said.

“That’s a terrible plan.”

“I know.”

“Why not run?”

“They have my crew,” she said.

“Who does?”

“Giza.”

Talik had no response to that. She pressed her lips into a line. “You’re going to need a hell of a plan,” she said.

The beeping intensified. Chopper bounced up and down at the edge of her vision, pointing furiously at the oncoming wall of rock with his mechanical arm.

“Want to lend a hand?” Hera’s heart was beating fast. She couldn’t save Kanan if she was pulverized by a space rock or ship-jacked by Free Ryloth (which, as the seconds ticked by, she was becoming more and more certain was Talik’s plan only Zeb had beat her to it). As the glitter of asteroids filled the viewport, Hera was left with few cards to play. “If you help me get my crew back, there might be a T-series tactical droid core in it for you,” she said.

Talik’s space-black eyes narrowed in consideration and then widened as a new idea clicked into place. “I’d rather you owe me one,” she said.

Frowning, Hera’s lekku curled forward hostilely. The words tasted salty in her mouth, but she said them. “Then I’ll owe you one.”

A dry laugh escaped Talik’s throat just before she flipped the blaster over in her hands. She offered the handle to Hera, unconcerned with the other blaster still pointed at her face. “Then we’d better survive the next few minutes.”

Hera snatched her hold-out blaster from the other woman’s hands, dodged around Chopper, and vaulted over Zeb’s prone form. As she took her seat, she slapped the alarm into silence and pulled on the yoke. The view shifted and the pock-marked surface of the asteroid blurred below them revealing a black and white horizon. No longer in immediate danger, Hera set the scanner to search the field. She needed a place to wait and think, somewhere deep enough that they couldn’t be easily found, but where they she still watch Polis Massa Station. It was a tall order, but Hera knew she would find it. She had to.

Behind her, Talik’s soft foot-falls brought her closer to the viewport. Hera leaned over to the co-pilot’s station and turned on an ambient scanner. The motion made her wince. In all the commotion she’d almost forgotten about Zeb digging his claws into her shoulder. He hadn’t broken the skin, but she would have a pretty bruise for a few weeks. With a grunt to cover up the pain, Hera called behind her. “Chopper?”

The little droid beeped an affirmative. As Hera maneuvered the _Ghost_ over the shimmering asteroids deeper into the field, there was a sharp pop of electricity. Talik gave a guttural cry before her body hit the floor next to Zeb’s. Turning half in her seat, Hera let off a single stun shot from her blaster into Talik’s back. It would be enough to keep her incapacitated for a few hours. Another time, Hera would have smiled, pleased with herself for getting the drop on Talik so easily, but there was too much on her mind, now. Too much to plan and not much time to do it. And she wasn’t sure where to start.

 

_Present_

 

With an imperceptible electric click, the five became a six. Hera pulled the long sleeves of her caf-brown sweater over her hands and shuttered. Two hours and forty six minutes was a long time to have the ship powered down and she’d been cold for every second of it. Outside, the viewport was spattered with silver stones suspended in space; the wheel of stars twisted with an agonizing lack of speed. Like Mimbanese mud sloths, the specks of light revealed their faces micron by micron over the asteroid’s false horizon. The stars, like every ship on Polis Massa, seemed to be in no hurry to go anywhere. The port had been locked down again following the _Ghost’s_ escape. When it would reopen was anyone’s guess.

As Hera stared at the sharp lines between silvery stone and black space, a single star drifted behind a muntin left singed in the earlier attack. At this rotational speed the _Ghost_ would become visible to Polis Massa’s sensors in approximately twenty standard days. Hera frowned pensively and prayed to the Mother Goddess that it wouldn’t take that long. It had only been three hours since Kanan’d been left behind and her nerves were already so taut her teeth ached. It was a weird, tingling sensation that made her want to grind them together, but her jaw was too tired from clenching. She scrubbed the back of her hand over her forehead instead. After Chopper had stunned Talik, she’d had plenty of time to think and now she had the beginnings of a plan. If it all went like she hoped, Kanan would be on his way back to her less than an hour after Giza’s ship reappeared. After that, she’d have to get a little more creative.

With a hush, the door to the cockpit opened. Two struts and a center wheel rattled over the deck to the port tactical station. Hera’s lips pressed into a line. She didn’t turn around. There were few familiar clicks and whirrs as Chopper plugged into the diagnostics. He must have finished the laundry list of tasks Hera’d given him to keep him busy. Despite his help taking down Zeb and Talik, Hera couldn’t think about C1-10P without her heart wincing in pain. Stunned or not, Chopper had left Kanan behind. He’d let _her_ leave him behind, and that boiled up a special kind of anger inside of her. Even now, hours later, her lekku twitched as he made his report to the _Ghost’s_ central computer. Under folded arms, Hera tapped out the seconds with her finger. After a ten-count she closed her eyes against a fresh rush of emotions, crushing and grinding. Anger, impatience, and regret twisted inside her like a firestorm collapsing in on itself, dragging her down into the memories of only a few hours ago.

A loud clang and an angry beep shattered the cold and shook Hera out of her reverie.

“Hey!” she snapped, spinning around. Hera gave Zeb a quick look-over from padded feet to pointed ears. He was strapped to the starboard tactical chair, bound at toes, ankles, knees, waist, chest, shoulders, elbows, and wrists. If Hera could have figured a way to bind his neck, too, she would have done it, but the headrest of the chair was too short and she wasn’t willing (or able) to drag him to another room. Ears flattened, the Lasat growled at her and then snarled as he bounced in the chair, making the floor clang beneath him again. The desire to charge forward and smash everything in his path radiated off of him. Chopper reversed on his struts and banged into the consul, sputtering.

This time, Hera turned her steely face on the astromech who swiveled his dome and grumbled in a long stream. He wasn’t scared. He just didn’t want the monster’s slimy, pre-digestive juices all over him. Look at it. It was salivating. And what if it excreted more than saliva? What were they going to do then? He didn’t want all that bacteria-farming organic matter all over his struts, getting tracked through the ship.

“If that happens, I’ll take care of it.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. With everything on her mind, the status of her captives’ bladders was one more thing she didn’t want to think about. Number one was Kanan. Was he alright? Was he still suffering? Had they stunned him again? Sedated him? Was he already in Giza’s hands? Moving the thoughts to the back of her mind left her with a chill, empty feeling. She shivered.

“Chopper, close that door on your way out,” Hera ordered turning back around in her chair. “It’s freezing.”

Another hush closed the cockpit off from the rest of the ship. For the fourth time that hour, Hera dared to switch on the long-range scanner. It was a risk; the signal emitted by the _Ghost_ during scanning could be picked up by the security patrols still circling the asteroid field. Polis Massa blipped across the screen, a massive reading of heat, technology, and electromagnetic waves. But the space around it was relatively clear. No ships had left the station in nearly three hours. She flipped the scanner back off, returning the _Ghost_ to invisibility.

She snuggled farther down into the folds of her sweater. “So,” she said without turning around, “have you made a decision?”

Zeb laughed humorlessly. “What decision? I’m taped to a kriffing chair.”

“At least you can talk.” As she said it, Hera glancedsd at the co-pilot’s seat. Talik was taped down with silver all-sealant at her joints, just like Zeb. The only addition was a strip across her mouth; all a part of Hera’s plan–if it could be called a plan. It felt more like a thin sheet of ice struggling to bridge the gap across a wide lake with her standing on one side and Kanan standing on the other. For her part, Talik hung her head as she leaned forward against her restraints. Her dark eyes slid over to Hera, frost-bitten as the space-cold air. She shivered against the cold.

“Like that’ll do me any good,” mumbled Zeb.

Wrenching herself free from Talik’s stare, Hera said, “That depends on what you have to say.”

Whereas Talik had been awake for nearly an hour, Zeb had been conscious for only thirty minutes. He’d spent the first ten swearing and pulling against his chair, only stopping when Hera had shown him her blaster, still set to stun. The next twenty minutes had been filled with Zeb’s grumblings about ill fortune, crazy Twi’leks, and how badly he needed a drink. When Hera had offered him a glass of water, he’d laughed. At that, even Talik’s lekku had bounced with a gagged chuckle.

Zeb shifted minutely in his chair, but it didn’t sound like an escape attempt, so Hera kept her face forward. “Any plan yet?” he asked.

“One,” she said, struggling to sound nonchalant. She was glad he couldn’t see her face, and while she wondered if Talik was watching her, she didn’t allow herself to look over again so soon.

“And it involves that woman?” He meant Talik.

“Maybe.”

“Who is she? I don’t remember her being here the last time I was on board.” There was curiosity in Zeb’s voice. He was thinking more clearly now. “The way she jumped in to save you, I thought you were friends. Heh. Guess not.”

“Her name’s Talik.” Hera kept her eyes on the static scenery and refolded her arms, pinning her hands to her sides, fingers restless. She could practically hear Zeb’s expressive eyes quirk in curiosity. Her heart buckled under a new wave of guilt and then raced as the spiteful truth bubbled up. She might as well tell him; he’d find out as soon as she set her plan in motion, anyway. “She’s the person who tried to steal that tactical droid from Giza.”

Zeb froze for a second before hissing, “What? You said you didn’t have anything to do with that! Those terrorist are crazy!” Next to Hera, Talik sighed deeply, a sharp sound as all the air was forced through her nose.

Hera made a face. “They’re desperate,” she said as images of Ryloth flashed through her mind: villages burning as Imperial ships moved slowly overhead, disgorging troop transports. Talik had been there. Talik had fought there. And now she was taped to a chair.

Zeb gave a skeptical growl. “I’ve been desperate, too, and I never risked venting an entire space port.”

“No, you were just desperate enough to sell out me, my ship, and my first mate–who risked his life for you in that space port, in case you forgot.”

Zeb shook his head like he’d been slapped, but Hera wasn’t finished.

“If the only one you fight for is yourself, your life is worth nothing. Even these _terrorists_ know that.” She resettled her shoulders, careful of the one that Zeb had bruised. “Think of that next time you’re saving your own skin.”

Silence fell deep, cold and stinging. The stars had moved less than a millimeter and the clock changed, a meaningless archivist of an unchanging world. Hera turned her face to the left, refolding her hands more tightly around her chest. She didn’t want to see the glint of interest in Talik’s eyes, or the approving curve of her lekku.

Zeb’s chair squeaked below his weight, slow and halting, like he was afraid to make a noise. Somehow, Hera knew that his eyes had shifted to the sky crowded with silvery asteroids and the glimpses of far-off light beyond. Just as the silence stretched towards irrevocability, Zeb’s voice came low and reticent.

“What do you want to know?”

Hera closed her eyes and pulled a deep breath of cool air into her lungs. “How many ships does Giza have?”

Zeb answered without hesitating. “Here? Three. The salvager you chased out the tunnel, the one that got blown up-” he nodded to Talik, “and a heavy freighter waiting on the other side of the asteroid field.”

She’d gotten a good look at the salvager a few hours ago. Like a lot of SVS-900s out there, it had been modified. In addition to the close-range mining lasers, it was outfitted with two cannons mounted under the fuselage and a pair of standard comet-chasers on top. Nothing she couldn’t out-fly, but... “What kind of weapons are on the heavy freighter?”

Zeb’s chuckle was as short as it was dark. “Enough to plow through a zero-g junkyard.”

Hera nodded. That meant wide arcs of heavy artillery designed for demolishing debris, not for targeting individual ships. It was extremely dangerous–even at a distance, but she doubted Giza would unleash such an indiscriminate attack, not if she wanted to keep on Polis Massa’s good side. Still, Hera didn’t like their odds.

“How many people?”

“Counting those idiots in the landing bay?” There was a pause while Zeb counted. “Twenty? No. Nineteen. Forgot about Chugo.” There was a sadistic laugh. Hera ignored it and returned to thinking with her tactical mind.

Giza had a lot of resources. They were more than Hera could reasonably face down alone and hope to come out in one piece. She glanced at Talik and Zeb’s bound forms. If she could trust even one of them to help her, it would help balance out the odds. Even Chopper had let her down, allowing her to take off without Kanan and failing to detect Talik when she’d snuck on board.

“You sure your boyfriend is worth all this?” asked Zeb as if sensing her thoughts.

“Yes,” she said with a determined frown. “And he’s crew. It’s not like that.”

Zeb gave a derisive snort. “ _He_ sure thinks it is.”

Hera pursed her lips. What had Kanan said to the Lasat in the middle of those empty bottles? It was their agreed policy to appear platonic in public as hints of a physical relationship could taint business dealings in unexpected ways. _Like kidnapping two people?_ Hera chided herself. She scrubbed her face with the back of her arm, savoring the scratchy fibers of her sweater. When she opened her eyes she couldn’t help but look to the right where a thin black eyebrow arched high on Talik’s face. Where at first she might only have suspected something between Hera and Kanan, now she knew for certain. And not only did she know they were involved, she knew exactly how important he was to her. How could she not? She was tied down with the proof of it.

 _“MRR-hr WOP!”_ Chopper burst into the cockpit. The rush of cold air as the door opened and shut made Hera’s lekku shiver up to her skull.

“What is it?” she asked.

_“Hm-ba-ba-rr-rr-hrrr.”_

“What? How do you know?”

Chopper beeped away again, setting one mechanical arm akimbo the way he’d seen Hera do when someone asked an obvious question. What else was he supposed to do but watch that boring asteroid?

Zeb was practically bouncing in his chair. “What? What’d he say?”

“The port reopened,” Hera explained.

Giving the sky a quick, cursory glance for patrol ships, Hera activated the long-range scanners. She kept the engine sequence close in her mind in case they needed to run.

No sooner did the display activate than numerous blips appeared in the space around the station. Most of them were headed towards the corridor through the asteroid field and the hyperspace lanes beyond. Hera counted six new vessels so far. She looked at the chronometer. The release was in keeping with the usual rate of one ship every three minutes, assuming the landing bay had reopened at 21:00 on the dot, exactly when she’d ended her last scan.

“He’s right,” she announced. “They’re letting out the seventh ship now.”

Zeb leaned forward against the thick tape. “Giza was scheduled to leave tonight at twenty-one-thirty,” he said.

Hera’s eyes flicked to the chronometer again. “That’s in just a few minutes.” Eyes narrowing, she asked, “Would she try to keep schedule?”

Zeb scoffed. “Giza’s _always_ on time.”

Now it was Hera’s turn to raise an eyebrow. In the copilot’s seat Talik shifted, watching her.

“Then it’s time,” she said. “Chop. Prepare for takeoff.”

The sequence of switches and levers flowed out of her fingers and she pushed the yoke forward. The asteroid they’d matched orbits with slid away beneath the _Ghost’s_ belly, giving way to a scattered field of mixed rubble.

“Chopper,” Hera called without taking her eyes off the black sky. “Scan for anything that looks like it’s from Ghtroc. Or even an Allanar.”

The droid hooted an affirmative and plugged into the tactical station opposite Zeb. The Lasat’s attention swapped from Chopper to Hera and back again. Talik stared at Hera with narrowed eyes, mouth burning against the silver tape.

“Why those ships?” Zeb asked.

_“Bhh-wop-mrr-rrrmm.”_

“What did he say?”

Hera’s eyes darted down to her own scanners. They sky was clear of patrol ships. No commertial ships were heading their way, either. “Nothing you want to hear.”

The _Ghost_ wove between the ancient bones of Polis Massa as if they were vapor while the domed colony grew steadily larger in the distance. As larger asteroids neared, Hera aligned herself behind them, hiding in the blind-spots created by their shadows. Anyone scanning the area would see their signature flicker in and out. With any luck, they’d dismiss it as an instrument anomaly or ambient signals ricocheting around the baradium sulfite-rich planetary remains.

Just before they’d cleared the worst of the field, Hera swung the ship to port and skirted the edge of the cloud towards the hyperspace lanes.

Zeb bounced in his chair again. “What are you doing? They’re going to see us!”

“I’m counting on it,” was all Hera replied. Stiffly, she reached overhead with her right hand and flipped an innocuous switch. In the corner of her display, the moniker _Opportunity_ appeared.

There was a groan of metal from his seat as Zeb leaned forward as far as possible. “Giza’s ship? How did you do that?”

Hera ignored his question and instead said, “She can’t ignore her own ship.”

A low whistle filled the cockpit. “I’m not sure if I’m impressed… or scared.”

 _“Rm-bb-brmm, keh-keh-keh-keh,”_ Chopper laughed, and despite the peril she was flying into, Hera smiled. Chopper was right; why couldn’t he be both?

In a final rush, the asteroids gave way to the oasis of clear space around Polis Massa, now a large, bright spot on a misshapen planetoid off their starboard bow. Across the sky, the lights of various ships flitted from one side to the other. Nine ships had been released from the landing bay, and if what Zeb said was right, Giza’s would soon be among them. If her plan was going to work, there was one thing she needed to do before that happened.

“ _Whrrr-gghh-mp-mmm,”_ hummed Chopper. Hera nodded and swung the ship to the coordinates he provided. In the near distance hung a battered, yellow Ghtroc 720. As soon as it came into view Talik jumped forward in her seat and was rudely pulled back by the layers of tape. She growled against the gag in urgent, muffled tones.

“Open the channel,” ordered Hera. A second later an accented voice echoed across the comm.

“This is First Officer Bytay of _Sky Arrow_. State your business.”

“ _Sky Arrow_ , this is Captain Hera Syndulla. Turn on your holo-projector. I have something here you need to see.”

After a second, a lined hologram flickered to life between the _Ghost’s_ forward consoles. It showed a Twi’lek male in his early forties. In the faded colors, his pale green skin appeared almost gray. Hera toggled a switch and widened the camera lens to take in the front two seats of the cockpit.

“Captain!” Bytay’s lekku went taught as he straightened in his chair. Behind him there was a scuffle and a small female with thick, yellow lekku pushed her way into the screen. “Talik! Are you alright? What happened?” she tinned. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen standards.

Talik stiffened in her chair and shouted some words that were lost against the tape. But her command was clear as she jerked her head over her shoulder. First Officer Bytay signaled to someone and a pair of disembodied hands removed the girl from view although her chattering was still audible in the background.

Bytay’s voice lowered with his head, like a bantha preparing to charge. “What is it you want?” he asked.

Hera narrowed the holocam’s focus to only show her again. It wasn’t until she opened her mouth to reply that she realized they were speaking in Ryl. “I don’t have time to answer your questions, now,” she said slowly. “But if you do everything I say, we’ll all get what we want.”

Bytay went quiet. From the way the girl’s prattling suddenly disappeared, it was clear that someone had hit the mute button. An internal negotiation was going on, but Hera didn’t mind. She expected nothing less. After a moment, Bytay gave an almost imperceptible nod and leaned forward. The ambient noises of the _Sky Arrow_ returned. He said, “We are listening.”

Heart threatening to surge into her throat, Hera swallowed it back down.

“In less than five minutes,” she said, “Giza’s ship is scheduled to leave port. In her custody, she has a member of my crew.” Hera paused, chewing on the words for the last time before they left her mouth. “I’m going to offer Giza an exchange: my crewman for your captain.”

There was an uproar over the comm as everyone on _Sky Arrow_ spoke at once. Several faces popped into the holo-projector’s range, including a lizard-blue female and a male with half of his left lek missing. The chaos on the hologram was echoed on the _Ghost_ as Talik seethed over her gag and pulled at her restraints, radiating anger. Behind her, Zeb let out a roar of disbelief, the volume of which sent Chopper into a whirl of binary vitriol. It was almost a minute before Bytay took control of his cockpit again. From the way the ambient noise quieted, it was clear that the yellow girl with the thick lekku had finally been escorted out.

Bytay’s frown was deep as a canyon when he regarded Hera again. “I assume you didn’t contact us to gloat about it,” he said.  “Speak your piece.”

“I need your help,” Hera said, pretending not to notice how ridiculous she sounded. “It’ll be an escape pod exchange,” she explained. “Once my person is clear, I want you to fire on Giza’s ship.”

The shock on Bytay’s face was clear, but his voice was steady as he asked, “What next?”

This was the part Hera was the most sure of and least sure of at the same time. “When Giza is distracted, I’ll fly in, recover my crewman’s pod and give you covering fire while you recover Talik’s.”

Bytay nodded slowly. “And then?”

Hera’s heart skipped. Had she missed something? “Then… we part ways,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice level.

Bytay ran his tongue over the tips of his sharpened teeth as he thought. “There are a few holes in your plan, Captain,” he said. “First of all, Giza’s flying a mining freighter. Our ship cannot hope to damage that level of shielding.”

Hera was prepared for this. “You only have to keep her off balance long enough for me to grab the escape pod. I’ll take care of the rest.” Behind her, Chopper whistled nervously.

Bytay continued. “Second of all, how do you expect we’ll outfly Polis Massa security? They’ll catch up to us long before we reach the hyperspace lanes.”

Hera’s lips pressed into a line. This was the part of the plan even she didn’t like. “That’s why we’re going to make the exchange halfway through the asteroid corridor.”

Turning his head, Bytay swore under his breath. “ _Szu’tak_. This plan is suicide. Why should we even believe you?”

As Hera and Bytay locked eyes, Chopper interrupted with a report.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to find your own answer to that,” Hera said taking hold of the control yoke. “Giza’s ship just left the landing bay. I’m going to set up the exchange now. Either you’ll be there and you’ll get your Captain back, or you won’t.”

Without waiting for a reply, Hera cut the comm and pulled the _Ghost_ to face Polis Massa. On her screen, Giza’s ship approached and Free Ryloth’s lingered. Talik and Zeb both leaned forward to watch with Hera as slowly, slowly Free Ryloth’s _Sky Arrow_ turned about face and skated towards the long corridor between the asteroids. Hera let out a sigh, but Talik gave a grunt that drew her attention. The cobalt-blue Twi’lek’s obsidian eyes cut into her, sharp and unforgiving. She shifted one lek and then the other. It’d been a long time since Hera had seen someone speak with only their lekku, but the gestures were so clear and basic that even a child could have read their meaning.

 _Danger_ , she said. _Your fault._ Then, _Remember._

These words, expressed in the most Rylothian of ways, punched Hera in the gut and released three years of loneliness, ten years of regret, and a lifetime of anger. She steeled her face, closing up the wounds like a tightened fist. This wasn’t the time for doubt; it was the time for action.

Hera adjusted the ship’s thrusters, angling towards the colony. It was only a blink until the two ships were approaching eachother. It was sooner than she expected–sooner than she was ready for. The debris-scarred SVS-900 slowed its approach until the two ships faced eachother across a black expanse.

Zeb’s chair creaked. His voice was low with warning. “Giza’s smart,” he said. “She’s never going to fall for this.”

“She will,” she said. “Talik is more valuable to her than Kanan.” She reworked her mouth as she reworked her resolve. “She’ll make the trade.”

Talik pulled against the tape at her shoulders one more time and mumbled something against her gag. Hera didn’t look at her again.

A twittering sound preceded Chopper’s announcement. A communication was incoming.

Eyes closed. Hera took a long breath in. The air in her lungs was cold and heavy. Her lungs constricted on it. She’d done a lot of dangerous things over the past few years, but over the past few months those occurrences had become more and more frequent. Now here she was with two prisoners: one a reckless thug and the other a terrorist captain. And she was ready to risk their lives and her own to trade one of them for a suicide flyer she’d picked up on a muddy planet in the middle of nowhere. That was just the story on the surface, she knew. Zeb wasn’t just a roustabout; he was a last survivor of his species–the definition of disenfranchised. Talik wasn’t some wild killer; she was a freedom-fighter and a friend of her father’s–not two degrees of separation from Hera herself. And Kanan wasn’t just a gun-slinging alcoholic; he was an asset of as-of-yet-unknown value, a former Jedi, and–

The justifications died away. They weren’t the truth. They were, but they weren’t. Kanan wasn’t _just_ an asset. He wasn’t _just_ a former Jedi. Even if those things were taken away… Maybe she wouldn’t have seen it before… But it was all she could see now… He was… He was…

Hera’s erratic thoughts boiled up inside her like magma building in a volcano. When they met the cool air in her lungs, she breathed them all out in a long, steady stream that hissed like steam through her lips.

She was going to get Kanan back. No matter what.

Hera opened the comm and switched on the holoprojector. The face on the other side wasn’t the one she’d hoped to see or even the one she’d expected. It was the pinched, bruised face of the red-headed woman who had led Hera to the _Ghost_ and called her a “tail-head.” She was already in the middle of a tirade when the comm caught up with the hologram. “-are you and how did you copy our signature?”

Hera let her holographic image speak for itself. The human woman went quiet, mouth half-open in surprise.

“Get me Giza,” Hera ordered.

Recovering, the woman snorted. “Go _kriff_ yourself.”

Hera toggled the lens of the holo-projector, just as she had done a few minutes ago with Free Ryloth. As Talik’s bound and gagged visage came into view, the woman’s eyes grew wide. Before she could get off another swear, Hera repeated her order. “Get me Giza. _Now_.”

The space between the consoles went empty as the woman left her chair. The cockpit of the _Ghost_ was quiet as death except for Zeb’s nervous shifting and the slow hum as Chopper monitored the SVS for any sign that they were powering up their engines, weapons, or mining lasers. In the co-pilot’s seat, Talik had closed her eyes. Her breathing was even and controlled. Her black-swirled lekku hung slack over her shoulders.

Hera risked a glance back at Chopper who shook his dome to indicate a negative. Giza’s ship was quiet, and it hadn’t sent any messages to Polis Massa. Yet.

It was another second before the hologram flickered again. The view shifted as the real _Opportunity_ adjusted its cameras to take in its leader in all of her 1.5 meter glory.

“Hello, Twi’lek.” Giza’s condescending sneer had lessened none in the few hours since Hera’d last seen her. She was wearing a fresh suit and her hair was now plastered down with the water of a fresh shower rather than with grease. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the two figures in her hologram. “Where’s the traitor?”

“Tried to take my ship,” Hera said raising her chin, her words ringing with truth. “It didn’t work out for him.”

Doubt twisted Giza’s face, but then morphed into appreciation before settling into something harder and more cunning. “So I assume you’re here to do what? Turn yourself in?”

“Not exactly,” Hera answered, crossing her arms. She had practiced the words in her head. She hoped they were the right ones. “You and I got off to a rough start, but that’s the way business goes sometimes. And so is this: I have something you want.” She nodded to Talik whose head was still canted forward as she took long breath after long breath. “I’m here to see what you’ll offer in return.”

Giza’s face showed no expression as she took in Talik’s hologram. After a moment, her eyes flicked to Hera. “How did you find her?”

“Things didn’t work out for her, either.”

Cold amusement pulled up the corners of Giza’s mouth before fading away. “I suppose… what? You want a bounty?”

“Not exactly.” Her eyes narrowed. She hoped she looked as intimidating as Talik had when Hera’d pointed the blaster at her. Even with danger inches from her face, the other woman hadn’t so much as blinked. So now, with Giza’s visage only inches from hers, neither did Hera.

“Then what are you looking for?”

“What do you have?”

Giza raised her chin as she thought. Behind her, there was the shuffle of movement and an indistinct voice. Giza listened to what it had to say, tilted her head in consideration and finally nodded. “I think I know what you’re after,” she said. As she stepped aside a new figure joined her in the hologram.

Kanan towered over Giza, held in place by two arms cut off by the hologram feed. One held him by the elbow while the other pointed a blaster at his neck. His clothes were dirty with splotches of alcohol, char, and a few traces of blood. A purplish bruise had formed at the corner of his right eye. But his hair was pulled back neatly and he stood tall despite his hands being restrained behind his back.

It took all of Hera’s self-control to keep her face neutral while her heart pounded against her chest. She knew Kanan would notice, but hoped no one else would. Through the grainy lines, he gave her a confident, sly smile–the kind she hadn’t seen from him in days. Hera’s lekku shifted. Where was the panicked man she’d left at the lift? Where was the bereft prisoner on his way to certain death who had haunted her thoughts? Had Polis Massa’s influence on him vanished the very moment he’d left?

Giza glanced at Kanan from foot to head and rocked on her heels. “Not exactly mint condition, but acceptable, I think. Do we have a deal?”

“It’s not a bad start,” Hera agreed, feigning a shrug. “What else have you got?”

Giza laughed. “This prisoner is worth five thousand credits to me and I have every legal right to deliver him to the Empire. You’re either overconfident or stupid to ask for more.”

“I just think I’m better at simple math.” She leaned back in her seat and tilted her head at Talik. “This one is worth ten times that much, so you’d better offer me more than one prisoner, like… a T-series tactical droid core.”

The rotund woman’s mouth split in laughter. “I think it’s you who can’t do simple math,” she said. “No prisoner is worth what that core can get me on the black market. So if you think you’re getting a bad deal trading that piece of garbage for this one, why don’t you call the Polis Massa Trade Commission to come and settle the dispute? I hear they’re always accompanied by Security forces in case negotiations get out of hand.” Giza smiled like a shark.

Behind Hera, Zeb shifted. “She’ll call them anyway, once she gets what she wants,” he whispered.

“Don’t do it.” Kanan’s deep voice cut into the negotiation.

Hera’s heart jumped at the sound of his voice. “This isn’t really your call,” she rebuked. He needed to shut up. He needed to let her handle this.

He wove slightly from side to side, unsteady on his feet as his dark brows pulled together in concentration. Maybe Polis Massa was still affecting him more than she’d thought.

“You show a lot of loyalty,” he said.

Next to him, Giza nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “You show a lot of loyalty.”

Hera frowned. What was Kanan doing? She needed to play down their relationship, not start a conversation about it. “Don’t fight me on this,” she said.

Still weaving, Kanan flashed a smile as if he was pleased with himself, but the expression quickly disappeared back into one of focus. “Then I hope you’re ready for I fight when I get back,” he said.

Without missing a beat, Giza folded her arms. She repeated, “I hope you’re ready for a fight.”

There was a scratching sound as Zeb scraped one of his toe-nails on the floor, making Chopper beep a warning. In the co-pilot’s seat, Talik remained in a state of meditative breathing, but Hera could hear her listening.

Hera kept her eyes on Giza’s hologram. “I don’t want any trouble,” she said. “Just a clean exchange.”

“Where?” asked Giza, though Hera could have sworn Kanan’s mouth had moved, too. The guard holding him in place gave him a shake and Kanan had to shuffle to keep from falling over. His ankles must have been in binders, too.

Green eyes shifting suspiciously between Kanan and Giza, Hera moved to close the negotiation. “In the corridor, about half-way through. We’ll each send out an escape pod.” She activated the _Ghost’s_ main thrusters. “Meet me there in five minutes if you want your prize. Otherwise, she’s mine.” She cut off the transmission before anything else could go wrong.

The _Ghost_ barreled towards the single passageway in the asteroid field, passing other ships heading in the opposite direction on less urgent business. Hera didn’t look at Polis Massa as it disappeared from view, more than likely for the last time ever. It was just one more space port she could never visit again. She wouldn’t miss it.

The _Ghost_ entered into the long pathway marked by fractured beams of sunlight and shadow. On every side, near-motionless rocks drifted in slow motion waiting to one-day plunge into their parent star or be crushed by further collision. But that was thousands, if not millions of years in the future. For now, they floated banally, shimmering slightly where the sunlight caught on their ridges and craters. As she flew, Hera only paid them cursory attention. Her eye was on the scanners waiting… waiting…

_“Wop-wop-mrr!”_

A rush filled her veins, making her tighten her grip on the yoke.

“What? What’s going on?” demanded Zeb.

“They’re following us,” Hera said, hardly believing her own voice.

With a sharp inhale, Talik’s eyes snapped open. Hera risked a glance. The other woman’s eyes were locked forward on the viewport. Black as night, they were sharp and discerning. At her sides, the tips of her lekku curled and uncurled anxiously. If it had been possible for sheer will to burst through restraints, Talik would have done it then.

As guilt scratched again at her insides, Hera pushed the ship forward around the curves of the corridor until she saw what she was looking for: Free Ryloth’s battered, yellow Ghtroc.

“Chop, scan them.”

A few whirrs later and she had her report. The ship was stationary. One of its auxiliary sub-light engines was shut down. Hera cracked a smile and saw that Talik’s eyes were doing the same. It was smart, faking an engine recalibration. On an old ship like theirs it wouldn’t look suspicious in the slightest.

Hera brought the _Ghost_ around, swinging it to the near side of an asteroid the size of an Imperial Star Destroyer. When she came to a stop, Free Ryloth’s _Sky Arrow_ was hidden in the shadow of the giant rock, masking its signal. She reached down to her boot and drew her hold-out blaster. Carefully, she checked the settings to ensure it was still on stun.

She didn’t bother to apologize to Talik; the other woman wouldn’t have accepted it anyway. Hera knew because if their situations had been reversed, she wouldn’t have accepted, either. As she leveled the weapon, the two women’s eyes met: emerald green and jet black. “ _Vatak’ultuka_ ,” Hera said, and pulled the trigger.

As Talik slumped forward in her seat, Zeb curled in his toes with a scrape. “You’re cold, lady.”

There was no time to reply and she didn’t have anything to say, anyway. As she put the blaster away, she signaled Chopper to help her. The little droid rolled forward and extended his circular saw. As she sliced through the tape with the care of a surgeon, Hera shifted Talik over her shoulder. The woman was a heavy weight, but one she could bear, at least as far as the escape pod at the back of the galley. With a little maneuvering, she settled Talik into the primary seat. No sooner had she closed the buckles than Chopper was rushing through the ship, beeping furiously.

“HEY!” Zeb’s gruff voice called from the cockpit. “HEY! GET BACK HERE!”

With a final snap, Hera secured the other woman and squeezed back into the _Ghost_ , closing off the pod; the only one she had. Chopper was just ahead of her, arms waving in a frenzy.

_“Err!!! Meep-wop-brrrrrr!”_

“What?”

_Ggg-bbrrrr!”_

“Then who fired?”

_“Mmm-grr-w-w-w-”_

“HEY! Um… _TWI’LEK CAPTAIN!_ GET BACK IN HERE!!!”

Her boots pounded the deck. She spared Zeb just enough of a look to see he was ready to tear the chair out of the floor in panic. The _Ghost_ shook with an impact just as she slid into the pilot’s seat. Outside, the world lit up with the flash of lasers over the asteroid’s silvery backdrop.

“Report!”

Chopper plugged into the port-side tactical station in an instant, chattering in the fastest binary she could decipher.

“What? WHAT?” Zeb demanded.

 _“Shut up!”_ she roared back. Chopper repeated.

As soon as Giza’s ship had arrived, it ejected an escape pod. Free Ryloth had sped in after that and started firing before it was even a kilometer out.

The _Ghost_ rattled with another ambient blast. “Why would they send out the pod before we sent out ours?” Hera didn’t know if she was actually asking or thinking out loud.

_“Ggg-bbrrrr!”_

“Electrical surge?”

The _Ghost_ rocked again and Zeb let out a startled growl.

With little choice left, Hera pulled the ship around. Her eyes swept over the scene through the viewport and the sensor display. _Sky Arrow_ had swung back and was pummeling _Opportunity_ with another volley, catching the outer shielding of the _Ghost_ with its shock-waves. It wasn’t enough to hurt the _Ghost_ at this distance, but it wasn’t appreciated, either. In reply, Giza’s mining vessel fired back with its dorsal-mounted comet chasers. The wide arc of plasma designed to shatter small asteroids scattered against _Sky Arrow’s_ shields and hull as it zoomed away to prepare for another attack. Amidst the fire, Hera’s night-strong eyes locked onto a silvery dot floating steadily away: the escape pod.

Hera opened up the maneuvering thrusters and angled the deflector shield towards the mayhem. She pushed forward on the yoke. Ahead of her, _Opportunity_ let off another shot with its smaller guns. “Why aren’t they using the cannons?” she asked.

_“Hrr-m-m-hrr.”_

“Disabled?” she repeated. “That electrical surge must have knocked them off-line.” That was good news for them, at least.”

Hera righted her shoulders behind the yoke, grimacing at the pain in her shoulder, and maneuvered the ship downwards towards the pod. Kanan had to be on there. He had to be.

Zeb’s toes scraped on the metal deck like he was trying to push away from the viewport and the firefight beyond. “Wait! _Wait! What are you doing?!”_

“Getting my crew back,” she bit and increased their speed.

Just then, _Sky Arrow_ cut across the viewport, peppering _Opportunity_ with lances of red. Giza’s ship opened fire, this time hitting the _Ghost_. The forward deflector shield lit up like a solar flare, forcing Hera to send the ship into a spin whipping the excess plasma off into space. She pulled up and around out of immediate range, just as they fired at her again.

“Karabast!” Zeb swore. “They think it’s a double-cross!”

“It is,” Hera called back. Then, under her breath added, “Just not the one I planned.”

As she brought the _Ghost_ into a new alignment, Free Ryloth’s ship moved to intercept her course three thousand meters off. As it passed, the ship slowed by a fraction. The rear cargo door opened as the electromagnetic cargo-clamp sprung to life. In a matter of seconds it had pulled the escape pod into its belly and was racing away again, circling into another attack vector.

It was a daring maneuver, and under different circumstances Hera would have admired the deft piloting. But as it was, all she could manage was a single, breathless and heart-wrenched syllable.

“No.”


	13. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan makes a break for it! But will he make a clean getaway or jump out of the frying pan and into the blaster-fire?

The landing bay was alive with noise and eyes. The diamond patterns on the floor were barely visible under passing boots, speeding wheels, and whirring repulsor carts. The smell in the air was half machinery and half perspiration. Everyone was getting out of Polis Massa as quickly as they could, and Kanan couldn’t blame them. Nor could he blame them for stopping to stare at the tight parade of security officers and then double their pace as they continued to load cargo, adjust air filters, and submit to inspections. Kanan, at the center of that parade, kept his face down. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed or worried about being recognized; it was that he didn’t want to give anyone a chance to memorize his face and remember him later.

The hexagonal formation of six Kallidahins turned a corner on the crisscrossing pathways and a boxy, work-worn SVS-900 came fully into view. Kanan risked a glance up at the vessel. It was both heavily armed and heavily armored with two comet-chasers mounted on the top and two canons on the bottom. At the front, just under the cockpit, loomed a hulking piece of machinery: a mining laser, limited in range, but strong enough to slice through a bulkhead like a lightsaber. Under the dents, scratches, and scrapes were hints of red paint, the last remnants of the craft’s original paintjob. As they neared the lowered ramp, the procession came to a stop.

“Security escort alpha two zero three has arrived to transfer the prisoner known as ‘Kanan’ into the custody of extradition transport _Opportunity_.”

Kanan took a long, deep breath, controlling the air all the way to the bottom of his lungs and then releasing it in a calm, steady stream. The metallic ring of the Kallidahin’s voice inside his mind was as grating as ever, but it didn’t scrape at his gray matter like it had before. Instead of clawing his psyche with razor talons, the voice now dragged over it with jagged fingernails. Still not a pleasant experience, but better. A lot better.

From down the ramp came the purposeful steps of a now familiar customs broker, salvage operator, and extradition agent. The shower was so fresh on Giza that the scent of clean water cut straight through the pungent odors of the landing bay. But while the soap may have been enough to cut through the grease in her hair, it hadn’t been enough to wash away the self-satisfied, superior smile as she considered Kanan.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said even though there’d been no delay. She clasped her hands together. “Shall we proceed?”

The lead Kallidahin tilted his head imperceptibly before stepping forward and offering a datapad. Giza snatched it up. Withdrawing his long arm, the lead Security Officer took a controlled breath of his own, prompting Kanan to raise an eyebrow. It looked like not everyone on Polis Massa was a fan of Giza’s.

“Before transfer documentation commences,” the Security Officer said evenly, “I require verbal confirmation of your recognition of the prisoner’s charges and crimes to ensure that you are personally aware of the inherent risks and dangers in accepting the extradition contract of the prisoner’s transport which may be related but not limited to the prisoner’s outstanding charges and crimes.”

“Yes, yes, go on.” Giza waved her hand in a circle as her eyes darted across the datapad.

The Security Officer tilted his white face to the left. “Very well. The full list of charges as determined by Polis Massa Settlement Security and Polis Massa Transport Authority, with the recognition of the Archaeological Research Council of Kallidah, documented and charged on the date of…”

Not unexpectedly, the hollowness of the asteroid opened up at Kanan’s feet. It was the same gaping tomb of suffocating silence that had tried to swallow him a dozen times now. But this time Kanan was ready. Letting the Kallidahin’s psychic prattle drift to the back of his mind, he closed his eyes. The Force was waiting for him. It surged like a wellspring, washing away the noise and filling up the emptiness all at once. The relief was as immediate as it was simple, as things often were with the Force.

Back in the detention block, it hadn’t been until he’d entered the second round of meditation that Kanan had realized what a perfect storm Polis Massa truly was. The sad, hard memories of the obliterated planet had been stained and exacerbated during the Jedi Purge. Then, the Kallidahins’ prodding had combined with Kanan’s own connection to the Force, weakening him to those bitter echoes until they flooded in unabated. The terrible things he’d seen and heard weren’t Force visions like he’d learned about in the Jedi Temple; they were memories soaked into stone and steel and space. And they were only the first of many lying in wait, ready to replay themselves in his mind while he waited, trapped in the detention block. But the Force had been his refuge then, just as it was now.

A smile twitched Kanan’s lips. It was funny. The past two hours in the detention block had been the longest he’d spent meditating in the Force in the past ten years and his first time as an adult. Following Order 66, he’d tried to keep up his training even as he scavenged through garbage and stowed away on tramp vessels. During those early days, his young mind had run ragged working out the what-if’s and couldn’t-they-have’s of each Jedi whose death echoed in his mind like a concussion grenade. But after a while he’d learned to push the endless scenarios out of his thoughts and with them, the Force. On the rare occasion one or the other reared an unwelcome head, he’d learned to escape into the bottoms of bottles or the arms of strangers. It was a strategy that’d kept him alive for a decade. And it hadn’t been that bad of a time, either. Now, as the Force enveloped and shielded his tired mind from Polis Massa’s hollow maw, Kanan sensed that that chapter of his life was already moving into the past. The allure of an alcohol-fueled encounter with a beautiful stranger had dwindled greatly. Or had it shifted into something else? He definitely still wanted a few strong drinks, but not in some dive bar on the edge of civilization. He wanted those drinks in a spacious hotel room, standing out on a terrace in the clean, natural atmosphere. And he only wanted one woman beside him. Just one.

She was out there now. Watching. Waiting. Kanan wasn’t sure what Hera had planned, but he was sure that getting away from Giza would help. He would escape. Then, he would run, avoiding Coruscant, avoiding detection… straight back to Hera.

A droning voice buzzed into his thoughts. “…Assaulting the registered agent of a customs agent: six counts. Resisting arrest: one count. Participation in a reckless act of public endangerment: one count. Suspected association with a known terrorist group accompanied by evidentiary support and witness corroboration: one count. Attempted…”

Kanan’s eyes fluttered open as he stifled an irritated sigh. On the far side of _Opportunity_ , he glimpsed of a group of Twi’leks gathering at the foot of an old, yellow freighter. Immediately he wondered if they were connected to Free Ryloth, but then dismissed the thought with his next breath. It wasn’t terrorists he had to worry about right now; it was a slimy businesswoman and her crew of scavengers. Speaking of which…

“Yes, fine. I accept.” Giza made some mark on the datapad and placed it back into the Kallidahin’s hands. With slow, deliberate movements, the Security Officer curled his long fingers around the pad. For a moment it looked like he was about to say something to her, but he only lowered the pad before nodding to his compatriots.

“Release the prisoner into Extradition Agent Nebiwotz’s custody,” he said.

Kanan took a few steps forward at the urging of their blaster-points and lifted his eyes to a new set of boots stomping down the ramp. A wry smile lit up his face.

“I know you!” Kanan said. “Didn’t I see you passed out on the floor? Looks like some of the purple from that guy’s fists rubbed off on your face.”

The giant man snarled and then winced as the expression pulled at his bruised lip and blackening eye. With a grunt, he took hold of Kanan’s binders and jerked him forward up the ramp. Over the clang of their footsteps, Giza made her final pleasantries to the Kallidahins and followed. Even as the ramp hummed closed behind them, Kanan couldn’t help feeling a pang of relief. Whatever came next, it wouldn’t involve the tinny, grating voice of another Kallidahin. And that was an improvement, even as he moved one step closer to the grip the Empire.

The bearded giant pushed him into a tiny lift and crowded in next to him. To Kanan’s disappointment, he kept his blaster well out of reach. When they reached the next level, Kanan was pushed down a poorly lit corridor the color of old rust. A few turns and the ship opened up into a lounge area, if it could be called that. The space was crammed with workbenches strewn with compressor coils, power regulators, and hydro spanners. Old power cells were stacked up on the floor like bricks, keeping coils of wiring from overflowing into what walkway remained. The whole ship smelled of battery acid, burnt caf, and a lack of showers. Suddenly the ripe scent that had clung to Zeb made more sense.

“Want me to put him in the supply closet?” The big man shook Kanan by the shoulder. His brows pulled together, but he didn’t move. They were still on Polis Massa and most of his energy was focused on keeping the bloody screams and marching boots in his mind at bay.

“No. Keep an eye on him.” Giza’s eyes narrowed as she continued towards the cockpit. “He’s a tricky one. I know the type.”

The giant shoved Kanan down into a chair he hadn’t even known was there. Reaching into a box of junk, he pulled out a length of red electrical cable and wound it around his chest.

Half connected to the Force and half teetering on the edge of oblivion, Kanan managed to mumble, “What’s wrong? Couldn’t find rope on any of your scavenger hunts?”

It was clear that the bearded man’d had enough of his quips because he socked Kanan in the stomach. The air exploded from his lungs, leaving him doubled over the electrical cord. If he’d had anything to eat in the past ten hours it might have come up. Over the wheezing grunts to regain his breath, he could hear the man stomping away. He didn’t regret it.

As breath returned to him, Kanan started to take inventory of his surroundings. There was junk everywhere, exhaust tubes and chunks of circuitry heaped in precarious piles. But beneath it was a functioning ship twice the size of the _Ghost_. The vessel was large enough to have a diagnostics display next to the acceleration couch. Kanan squinted at it, but there was nothing to see besides the climate readout, a comm, and an “occupied” light for the fresher. He needed to keep looking.

Kanan pushed the buzz of Polis Massa further to the back of his mind as he surveyed the space. Eventually, a flash of motion caught his attention. In front of one of the work benches crudely bolted to the wall sat an astromech even older than Chopper. Kanan couldn’t guess its make and model, only that it was from well before the fall of the Republic. Gunk was gathered around the edges of its fittings and its grey body hosted a variety of splatter marks from oil to coolant to who-knew-what-else. Its mechanical arms moved slowly as it opened up the casing of a black box on the bench. The box’s panel stuck at the last second and popped out of the droid’s pincer before clattering to the floor. As it turned to pick up the cover, its other arm bumped into the box itself, pushing it closer to the edge.

“Hey! Careful with that!” Across from Kanan, the wire-thin man from the cantina plopped down on the acceleration couch. Upon closer inspection Kanan could discern a tilt to his eyes and deep creases in his knuckles. Kuati, he guessed. Or maybe Corellian. Under his breath, the man muttered, “-be able to by ten droids better than you with that thing.”

The droid beeped weakly through a failing vocal unit before retrieving the casing from the floor. It carefully placed it back on the work bench next to the black box. Kanan’s eyes focused on the object. Was it the T-series core Giza had talked about? He had no idea, and even if it was, he didn’t see how that could help him now. Before he looked away, his attention lingered on the astromech. It was battered, abused, and obedient. He frowned a little to himself before turning away.

The ship gave a rumble. The repulsors hummed through the metal flooring and the landing struts clanged as they retracted. Kanan dared a smile. They were finally leaving Polis Massa and–

The void opened up around him. Frozen air seared into his lungs, making his chest contract. He coughed, gasped like a fish on land, and coughed again. Under the sudden pain he could feel the ship lifting off and orienting itself towards the access tunnel. Kanan squeezed his eyes shut and reached for the Force. It was waiting for him, but it was jumbled, like water sloshing in a cup. Polis Massa wasn’t ready to give him up so easily. As the ship gained altitude in the cavernous landing bay, Kanan recalled his first words when he and Hera had arrived at Polis Massa less than three days ago.

_Like a tomb._

Polis Massa was a tomb. It was a bottomless pit yawning up after him, snapping at him, trying to pull him in. As the ship began its vertical ascent, Kanan pulled in a shuttering breath, filling up the gnashing void with the Force as quickly as he could.

But that was wrong. The Force didn’t fill things; it _was_ things. It was everything–everything that mattered. Like cosmic radiation, it came from everywhere and nowhere to permeate existence. It was beyond life and death. The deaths buried in Polis Massa’s past were no different than the lives being lived in its present. The tomb wasn’t a hole, it was–

A rough hand pushed Kanan’s forehead, sending his head snapping back. He barely caught it before his neck cracked. “You still alive?” a voice chided before turning away. “Khoss, keep an eye on him.”

Kanan’s eyes gave a dizzy roll before focusing back on the cluttered lounge. The pungent smell of bodies mixed with old metal hit him next. There were several beings around now, most of them moving towards the cockpit, but a few settled into seats barely discernable amid the clutter.

“Are we… there already?” Kanan mumbled in a groggy voice. He was still reeling from tumbling into the Force and then being jolted away from it. He tested the air with a halting gasp. It was warm. The ache of Polis Massa was slipping away faster and faster until…

Gone. It was gone.

Kanan took a deep breath until his chest strained against the red electrical cord. Holding the air in his chest, he could clearly imagine the oxygen molecules feeding his cells and rushing to repair the fatigue that wracked his body. With suddenness, he realized that his head still ached, but not like it did before. And his body was still sluggish, but it was no longer tensed. Finally, finally, he was free.

Almost.

Kanan looked again around the dim, rust-colored room. It was a far cry from the _Ghost_ and not just because it was designed for mining. No one had cared about this ship for a long time. It was a tool, not a home, and it showed.

He thought back to the past minute. The person who had pushed his head had said something to the man seated across from him. Kanan sifted through the recent memory, hidden as it was under the pain of Polis Massa’s last grab.

“It’s… Khoss, right?” he asked.

The leathery man looked up from his datapad and away again with an unhurried expression.

“Don’t waste your time, spacer,” a new voice cut in. “We don’t talk to paychecks.”

Kanan turned towards the new arrival, a Devaronian with pinkish skin and the short horns of a young male. He settled in at a work bench bolted to the wall. Kicking up his feet onto the table, he leaned back with a loud squeak from the chair.

“Believe me, friend. I’m a lot handier than a one-time pay-off,” Kanan said. “See that sensor relay over there?” He pointed with his goateed chin and the Devaronian’s eyes followed to a heap of wires and dented casing next to his feet. “That’s a Bendine model. Fifteen minutes in my hands with a fusioncutter and it’ll be good as new. Maybe better.”

The Devaronian stretched his arms up over his head before netting his fingers behind his neck. “We’re not hiring.”

“Smart crews are always hiring smart crewmembers.”

He snorted through his pointed nose.

The human, Khoss, flicked through something on his datapad. “Must be desperate to keep away from the Empire.”

Kanan’s attention flew to the other human, but he was already absorbed in his datapad again.

Even though no one showed any signs of actually listening to him, Kanan continued to talk. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “Turning me over to the Empire is a big waste of time. Yours, mine, theirs. And take it from me, the Empire does not like having their time wasted. I’m just trying to save us all a bunch of trouble. One look at me and the Empire’s going to throw out whatever contract that lady’s got and then there goes your paycheck.”

Unmoved, Khoss continued to scroll, but the Devaronian’s face twitched.

Kanan went on. “I’m not involved with any terrorists or whatever those egg-faces said. I just crewed on that Twi’lek lady’s freighter for a while.”

The Devaronian snorted again and sarcastically asked, “Oh yeah? What kind of work were you doing?”

“Well…” Kanan tapped into a familiar part of himself he wasn’t all that proud of. “I was mostly working on the ship, but I’d rather have been working on something else, if you know what I mean.”

The Devaronian slid a wine-red eye over the sleazy grin plastered in Kanan’s face and gave a short laugh. Even Khoss, engrossed as he was in his datapad, cracked a smile. Deep down, Kanan muttered an apology to Hera. This was all part of his plan. Still, the days when he would have said something like that in all seriousness were less than half-a-standard away. That knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

His plan was working, though. Neither Khoss nor the Devaronian were watching him very closely now. In their minds Kanan was just another drifter, only worth the paltry share of the reward they would gain from handing him over to the Empire. It was exactly what he wanted.

Kanan leaned to one side and then the other, rolling his shoulders and neck. They were stiff, and the motion helped, but that wasn’t the point. Stretching forward as far as he could, Kanan was at a better angle to look into the beginnings of the cockpit. Like most vessels, the technical stations were at the back. It was at a strange angle, but he could make out the basic schematic of the ship’s two levels and with it the distinct, circular shapes he was looking for.

Before his guards could take notice, Kanan leaned back into his chair. The blood rushed back into his skin where it had pressed against the electrical cord. There were four escape pods on the lower level. They were locked and would stay that way until there was a ship-wide emergency or a command override was given. Since there was little chance of gaining the codes, it was up to Kanan to create a sufficient disaster. Good thing he had a special talent for that.

Once more, Kanan Jarrus called on the Force. It rushed into him at first, like a river gushing through a channel. Knitting his brow, he fought to control it. He didn’t need the Force to take him on another ride into metaphysical realization. He needed it to guide his eyes, ears, and attention. He struggled against the current and plied his will against the onrush. He bent it one way and then the other while simultaneously trying to partially plug it up. It was a tall order for a Padawan a decade out of practice. Sweat was just beginning to prickle his forehead when his eyes popped open and focused on the run-down droid, now struggling to close one of its utility covers.

From the cockpit, the hulking form of the bearded human suddenly blotted the light. Khoss and the Devaronian’s heads snapped up. “Get him up,” he ordered. “Giza wants him.”

Kanan waited as the others rushed to loosen the electrical cord lashed around his waist and chest. When they finished, he twisted partway around and offered up the bindered hands behind his back. “See? I knew she’d come around,” he said.

The large man drew a blaster from his side and leveled it at Kanan. The tension in his bruised eyes dared the prisoner to make a wrong move, but Kanan just smiled. Unsatisfied, the giant grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him into the cockpit. Giza stood at the front, hands tucked confidently behind her back with her chin raised in thought.

“What’s going on?” Kanan asked, but the man only gave him a shake and told him to shut up.

To the side stood the red-haired woman. Her face was sour as ever with cruel contemplation creasing her mouth. She glanced at Kanan, leaned forward and whispered something to Giza. Their leader tilted her head as she considered the advice before nodding.

“I think I know what you’re after,” she said to whoever was on the other side of the comm and stepped aside. Kanan was muscled forward into the holocam’s range. The giant kept him in place with one hand on his elbow and the other pointing the blaster at his neck. Kanan straightened his spine and looked down at the hologram. Hera stared back at him. A fist that had been squeezing his heart loosened at the sight of her, allowing a sly smile to crawl across his lips.

Hera’s lekku shifted in thought. Her face remained neutral, even unimpressed, as she considered him.

Giza glanced once at Kanan and rocked on her heels. “Not exactly mint condition, but acceptable, I think,” she said. “Do we have a deal?”

Hera shrugged. “It’s not a bad start,” she said. “What else have you got?”

Giza’s greasy laugh filled the cockpit. “This prisoner is worth five thousand credits to me and I have every legal right to deliver him to the Empire. You’re either overconfident or stupid to ask for more.”

As Hera leaned back in her chair, she nodded to the woman next to her. Kanan had been so focused on Hera that he hadn’t even noticed the blue-skinned Twi’lek sitting limp in the co-pilot’s seat. She said, “I just think I’m better at simple math. This one is worth ten times that much, so you’d better offer me more than one prisoner, like… a T-series tactical droid core.”

“I think it’s you who can’t do simple math,” laughed Giza. “No prisoner is worth what that core can get me on the black market. So if you think you’re getting a bad deal trading that piece of garbage for this one, why don’t you call the Polis Massa Trade Commission to come and settle the dispute? I hear they’re always accompanied by Security forces in case negotiations get out of hand.”

So this was the plan. Hera was trading the woman from Free Ryloth to get him back, or at least pretending to. It was a dangerous ploy, pretend or not, and Kanan had the distinct feeling that there were more pieces in motion than he realized. As he looked at the steely determination on Hera’s face, he wasn’t sure how far she was planning–or willing–to go in this game. What he was sure of was his own role in it: to escape from _Opportunity_ on his own. He just needed to be sure Hera knew that he knew it. But how?

No sooner had he asked than the hairs rose on the back of his neck, like the past was tapping on his shoulder to show him a place and time far away and an old trick he hadn’t attempted in years.

“Don’t do it.” His deep voice halted the negotiation, making both women frown.

Through the grainy lines of the hologram, Hera narrowed her eyes warningly. “This isn’t really your call,” she said.

Kanan pulled on the Force. The effort of it made him woozy, but he held his footing and his concentration. “You show a lot of loyalty,” he said.

A second later, Giza nodded slowly. She said, “Yes. You show a lot of loyalty.”

“Don’t fight me on this,” Hera pressed, frowning.

As he wove slightly from side to side, Kanan smiled briefly to himself. “Then I hope you’re ready for I fight when I get back,” he said.

Giza reset her shoulder and folded her arms. “I hope you’re ready for a fight,” she repeated.

Hera kept her focus on Giza. “I don’t want any trouble. Just a clean exchange.”

Kanan hung his head. His brows crashed together with the effort. Giza wasn’t going to let him influence her forever. He had to bring this conversation to a close. Fast.

“Where?” he heard Giza ask moments after he mouthed the word to himself.

Perhaps sensing that something was amiss, the bearded man gave Kanan a rough shake. The point of his blaster bounced into Kanan’s neck and his focus broke as he struggled to keep his feet.

In the holoprojection, Hera’s bright eyes shifted between Kanan and Giza. “In the corridor,” she said. “About half-way through. We’ll each send out an escape pod. Meet me there in five minutes if you want your prize. Otherwise, she’s mine.” Hera’s hand moved to the console and her image cut out, leaving empty air behind it.

Kanan closed his eyes. Had he done it? Had she understood that she didn’t need to go through with the exchange? That he would escape on his own? In a few minutes, if everything went as Kanan hoped, he would find out.

“What was that all about?” The giant groused into Kanan’s ear as he pushed him back to the lounge.

“Just… ah… trying to save a nice lady some trouble,” he said. It was hard to sound casual with his heart pounding against his chest and in his head. The Jedi mind trick had taken a lot out of him. Far more than he expected.

Securing the red electrical cable back into place around his chest, the larger man grunted and returned to the cockpit, disappearing from sight.

Kanan struggled to open his eyes to full. Five minutes, Hera had said. He had five minutes to escape. All around him the lounge was as he’d left it. Khoss was still engrossed in his reading and the Devaronian was half asleep in his chair. Nearby, the droid had gotten the rest of the casing off the black box and was preparing to hook into a diagnostic.

That was his chance.

As he dipped into the Force yet again, Kanan felt a streak of resentment. For ten years he’d survived without it (some extenuating structural collapses in the Gorse system notwithstanding), and now in less than one day he had called on it more times than in all those years combined. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful. If the Force had cared about things like loyalty, it might have left him to rot from the inside out back on Polis Massa. No, the resentment came from himself. He hadn’t been strong enough to put his Jedi heritage aside. He hadn’t been smart enough to keep it hidden. Now he was on his way to being hand-delivered to the Empire that had slaughtered his people. And the only way out was by using the one thing in the galaxy guaranteed to get him killed. It was insanity, and yet, it was the only way.

As he refocused his thoughts on the Force, he twisted his mouth. Just because he was using the kriffing thing didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. With a long exhale, Kanan Jarrus sunk back into meditation. What he was about to do would require accuracy.

With its careful movements, the droid finally succeeded in hooking up the diagnostic wiring to the black box. With a manipulator claw, it moved the other end of the plug to its own port. As it maneuvered, the black box scooted towards the edge of the work bench inch by inch. Just as the droid succeeded, the box teetered and fell, clattering to the floor and ejecting a few random pieces in unknown directions.

“What are you doing, you worthless scrapheap?” Khoss’s leather face gnarled as he leapt from the acceleration couch. Snatching up the box, he placed it back on the bench, sparing the astromech a swift kick. As Kanan exhaled, the droid’s electro-shock prod popped out of its casing, sparking white. Khoss jumped back with a scream. The Devaronian sprang to his feet.

The droid beeped weakly in alarm. Its dome spun around in confusion. The machine backed away, only to slam into the Devaronian’s shin. He swore and shoved it straight into a pile of junk. An avalanche of debris scattered across the floor. Panicked, the droid backed away again, its electro-shock prod stuck in place snapping at the air. This time it moved towards Kanan.

“Not _this_ way!” he yelled, but it was exactly the opportunity he’d been hoping for. He reared both his legs, planted them on the droid’s casing, and kicked with all his might. The astromech sailed across the room, emitting a high, binary wail. As it raced, Kanan drew in a sharp breath and held it. The droid spun half around so that it was heading straight for the cockpit with its electro-shock prod leading like a lance. The second it disappeared from view, a new chorus of screams began. Giza, the bearded giant, and the red-headed woman erupted in a cacophony of curses and commands. Khoss and the Devaronian sped in to help them.

No sooner was he alone than Kanan shimmied out of his bonds, loosened through the Force during his meditation. As the chaos continued in the cockpit, he shouted the one thing that would send any ship into frenzy.

“Fire!” yelled Kanan. “Hit the suppression!”

A second later the nozzles hidden in the corners of the ceiling opened up and gushed out clouds of white. The lighting flashed with pulses of emergency-red in time with the klaxon now blaring through the ship.

Kanan made his move. He bolted back the way he’d come, masked by the fire suppression system flooding the hallways. As he went, he jumped, hiking his knees to his chest and pulling his bindered hands to the front. His shoulders ached in relief, but the extra effort made him cough violently as he breathed in the white mist. The anti-combustion chemicals weren’t fatal to humans, but they could make him lose consciousness if he wasn’t careful. Kanan buried his nose and mouth in the crook of his elbow as he hit the controls on the lift and sent it back to the lower level. As soon as the doors opened he was running again, full-tack towards the escape pods. Over the wailing alarm, a voice yammered frantically across the internal comm.

“Electrical shortages detected throughout the ship. Fire suppression systems have shorted out the cargo lift, forward seals, lower cannons, and three auxiliary sub-relays.”

Kanan coughed in the thinning air. “What a piece of junk,” he muttered as he reached the pods. The indicators were green, just like he’d planned. As he climbed through the narrow opening, the voice returned.

“All hands,” it yelled, “The prisoner has escaped! Repeat: the prisoner has escaped!”

Time was up. Kanan activated the minuscule vessel with all the speed his bound hands would allow. Before he pulled the release, his chin dipped to his chest of its own volition. He snapped it up. He was tired to the marrow of his bones and the race through the fire-retardant miasma had taken its toll. But he wouldn’t let it overtake him now.

Grinding his teeth together, Kanan yanked down on the release and was rewarded with a hiss of air as the escape pod sealed off from the rest of the ship and jettisoned. His stomach lurched as it ripped away from _Opportunity’s_ artificial gravity. Awkwardly, he tightened his hands around the single control stick. In a blink, the circular viewport filled with black space and silvery asteroids. A dry cough interrupted his smile as he angled the pod towards them. He’d escaped.

At that same moment, a flash of white engulfed his narrow view. The tiny pod quaked. The bulkheads, thick as any ship’s, chattered and groaned. Kanan struggled to keep his grip on the control and suffered as the vibrations spidered up his arms into his shoulders. Fervent blinking from the limited display panel showed the problem: plasma bursts coming from _Opportunity._

“I must have really ticked them off,” he said to no one as the pod jostled violently to one side and then the other. Kanan spit a curse as he was forced to let go of the stick so he could over and realign the deflector shield. His wrists strained against the metal bite of the binders. The deflector wasn’t the most robust thing, but it could take atmospheric reentry and that was good enough to hold off a few hits, but not many. No sooner had he set the shield between himself and the ship than the viewport lit up again. Kanan squeezed his eyes shut against the red streak before it exploded into a yellow flash. There was nowhere for him to go and nothing more for him to do.

“C’mon, Hera…” he muttered. “C’mon, Hera…”

The inside of the pod continued to blaze white and yellow. Warnings beeped frenetically. The display blinked red with impending doom. There was a flash of something solid speeding by the viewport and then the escape pod lurched. But this time it wasn’t the jostle of laser-fire; it was the pull of a tractor beam. Kanan’s heart leapt. A cargo lock. The _Ghost!_

As the pod clanged against the other ship, Kanan was nearly thrown out of his seat. Gravity had suddenly returned. There was a low screech, and a deep, mechanical hum as the pod was maneuvered into position. Hera would be aligning the escape pod’s hatch with the _Ghost’s_ bottom-access door. Kanan slipped from the chair and squeezed to the back of the pod. He was grinning like an idiot, but he didin’t care. She’d done it. _They’d_ done it. Now all that was left was to get to the hyperspace lanes before the Imperials arrived.

As Kanan waited for the door’s indicator to switch to green, the escape pod and the ship around it rattled under another barrage of laser fire. He gritted his teeth. There was no time to waste.

Finally, the red light blazed green. Kanan pounded the door control with double fists. As soon as the hatch slid aside, he barreled clumsily out, still bound at the wrists. His bones were tired. They sensed the nearness of his bunk. The only thing moving him forward was the promise of Hera’s embrace at the top of the ladder.

He stumbled forward a few paces, straightening his back as he went. When he lifted his face, he stopped. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his bindered hands and showed his palms.

Though Kanan’s dark eyebrows were up to his hairline, the stone-brown Twi’lek’s face kept dark and serious. The way he held his blaster steadily with both hands betrayed a deadly familiarity with the weapon. White scar-tissue peppered the right side of his face, turning down one corner of his eye. Over his left shoulder, his lek ended in a ragged stump.

Kanan smiled weakly. “Hi there,” he said.

His back arched as the cold, hard point of another blaster pressed into his spine. He knew better than to try to look behind him. It didn’t really matter who was holding the second weapon. They had him.

“Hold on there.” Kanan struggled to keep the smile. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

The brown Twi’lek didn’t move except for an almost imperceptible tilt forward of his scarred head. His meaning was clear: this was not the time for talking.

Almost faster than Kanan could see, he grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him forward. Kanan stumbled and regained his feet only when the second blaster firmly jabbed into his back. They were moving forward now, passing through a short series of corridors too quickly for him to take stock of his surroundings. A flash of red lasers from outside the viewport dazzled his eyes just as he stumbled into the cockpit. Kanan blinked against the light and when he reopened his eyes, his vision filled with the face of Twi’lek female, lizard-green and with the eyes of a snake. Before he could move, the woman spit in his face. Kanan winced back even as he was forced forward again.

“ _Anoon Bytay. Eti aqii_ ,” the scarred Twi’lek rasped in a voice like stones.

At the pilot’s station, a pale green male with long lekku barked a word of acknowledgement. Kanan tried to wipe his face on his shoulder, but another firm jab in his spine stopped him short. A clean face wasn’t worth getting shot over.

The pilot manipulated the controls and the walls hummed as they accelerated forward. Finally, the pilot spared a long look over his shoulder. With unimpressed eyes, he took in the battered, exhausted human.

“ _Palakwi_ , _zalaet koa’an oportunitae_ ,” he ordered and turned back around.

To Kanan’s left, the female who had spit in his face stepped to the tactical station and activated the comm. Kanan didn’t know much Ryl, but he recognized “ _koa’an oportunitae_.” They were hailing the fake _Opportunity_.

The blue glow of the holoprojector lit the front of the cockpit. “ _Anoon,”_ the pilot said. Without looking away, he waved his hand behind him, beckoning.

One blaster at his back, another at his temple, Kanan was pushed forward until he was between the two front seats. On the small holodisplay, emerald eyes looked up at him, wide as moons. Hera’s image rocked as the _Ghost_ took fire. In the next instant, Kanan was yanked away. Someone kicked his ankles out from under him so that his knees hit the deck with a bang. A heavy boot followed, placing itself between his shoulder-blades and forcing his face to the cold floor. Kanan’s labored breathes hissed against the metal grating, but he could hear Hera’s voice over the comm along-side fervent, binary chatter. The pilot and Hera exchanged words in Ryl, hot and clipped, until the pilot ordered the transmission cut.

Beneath his bruised cheek, the ship vibrated and whined. Power surged to the engines, causing the lights to dim and flicker as Free Ryloth made a break for the hyperspace lane.


End file.
